


The Name of Beauty

by Sorted



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Euphemism Mockery, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Prostitution, Sex, Stoic Acquaintances to Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-02-28 23:04:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18766117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorted/pseuds/Sorted
Summary: Caught between an Inquisitor who hates him and a past that shapes him in ways he hasn't even realized, Dorian searches for love.Or at least, that's what hethinkshe's doing...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is my last DAI idea...but one can't really help writing a bad Inquisitor at least once, right? XD
> 
> ...Well, I mean, all my Inks have been...problematic in one way or another, but this time I mean "bad" as in "not a fan of Dorian" (gasp!) D8 HOW DARE - well because Cadash no likes magic, that's about the whole reason.
> 
> Fair warning, in this fic Dorian has sex with MANY different men. We are exploring how his Tevinter past would continue to guide him when the Inquisition is not a nice, friendly place for him where he can quickly ditch those habits. Ultimately, however - it's Adoribull, naturally. :)

Masks were a new element in court flirtation, for Dorian. No one wore them back home. Still, they were clearly less effective than Vivienne liked to pretend, because the man across the hall was wearing one that covered everything above his mouth, and his interest could not have been more obvious.

The grand hall in Skyhold’s keep was still under construction, but Josephine and Vivienne had done a fantastic job of hiding that fact for the occasion of the Inquisition’s first formal reception. The guests were mostly Orlesian, all _very_ rich, and generally bored at home. So they came to see this funny Inquisition thing for themselves, to add personal authority to their gossip when they got back.

Madam de Fer and the ambassador were not at all deterred by this, knowing that the event would still gain them a few allies, and the gossip back in Orlais would plant the seeds for future salons and banquets and alliances.

Dorian was required to attend—possibly the first time Cadash had ever required his presence for anything, but it was early days, yet. _Well—early weeks._ Skyhold’s Templars were resplendent around the hall. The food was abundant; the wine, actually good. It quite made up for being dragged out and put on display—the Inquisition’s dangerous and alluring pet magister.

 _Ah well_. At least he wasn’t the only one. Iron Bull was in the same condition. Shirtless, but his usual hideous pants had been changed for a billowing red silk brocade, and they’d put _gold caps_ on his horns. Where Vivienne had gotten such things, Dorian had no idea, but the Ben-Hassrath spy looked exotic and imposing and huge.

Dorian shut that thought out with his wineglass and glanced up with a bland, polite smile as Vivienne passed. “Lovely party, First Enchanter.”

“Of course it is, darling.”

The weight of the gaze he’d been under all night reminded him: “May I ask, who is that man over there?” He did not point, merely indicated with a half turn and a glance of his eyes. Vivienne followed his gaze. “The one in blue, with the silver mask and the wife who will be disappearing with that pretty young lady in pink in, I should say…ten minutes at most.”

“Ah, Baron de Chastois. Yes, his wife and Lady Monteville are quite the topic of late, due to their determination to be unfashionably indiscreet.” She thought a moment, as Dorian hummed. “Has he been looking this way all evening?”

“Not quite. I’ve made a few circuits of the room, after all. He’s only been looking this way since I stopped here.”

Sharp eyes turned to him. “Well, do feel free to have a chat with him, darling, if the inclination strikes you. He’s not one we expect to procure as an ally any time soon, but that could easily change if he is impressed tonight.”

“I am certainly impressive,” Dorian murmured over his wine glass.

“Your scandalous opinions are, indeed.”

With that, Vivienne departed. Dorian waited another ten minutes. Watched as, right on time, the Baroness excused herself; the Lady Monteville likewise, two minutes and thirty seconds later. And one minute and twenty seconds after that, the Baron began to head toward Dorian.

Dorian smiled. He looked _so_ good tonight.

“Lord Pavus, I understand?”

The flirting that followed was not very clever, nor very subtle. Dorian weathered it gracefully. Truth be told, he was not very interested in the man—a little short, with a slight lisp, and who could tell if his face was handsome under that mask? But wine and boredom and months of scarcity were making him forgive certain drawbacks. He’d have preferred to tryst with handsome, strapping Commander Cullen, naturally, but he’d already received a polite refusal from that one. Pity. He liked Cullen. They’d started off very much on the wrong foot, but then, Haven had been ablaze at the time. Once they reached Skyhold, Cullen’s better side started showing. He was a lot nicer to Dorian than Cadash, at least.

Alas, he was not interested, and though the common people of the South were much freer with their affections than Dorian was accustomed to, they wanted nothing to do with him, at present. So despite all his charms, this man was practically the first to show any interest in a very long time.

 _Well, not quite,_ he recalled, glancing at the Inquisition’s other member on display. _The first one who counts, anyway._

So Dorian took a deep, bracing drink and _smiled_. “Speaking of art, I could show you the most interesting book of classic Tevene poetry. I discovered it the other day in our library.”

“Yes? Where is this library?”

“The tower,” he answered. “No one will be there now, I should think. It isn’t exactly open to our party guests. But as a favor…” He smiled. “If you’re interested.”

Naturally, the Baron was.

The book did exist, though it hardly would have mattered. As soon as they were alone, in the dark, the man crowded close. “You are so beautiful, Lord Pavus…” and then he kissed Dorian, all tongue and lust and hands on his ass without preamble.

“You should see me from this angle,” Dorian murmured, sinking to his knees.

“Oh, yes, Andraste—beautiful…” The Baron quickly unlaced his trousers.

His cock was unremarkable, neither small nor large, so Dorian made no remarks, just licked the shaft and swallowed it down. He intervened before the Baron’s hands could do anything to his hair, settling them on his shoulders instead. It was good that the man complied. Dorian needed his own hands for himself.

He supposed the Baron might have been satisfied with his mouth—but what would Dorian have gained from that? Preparation was in order. He lacked supplies; fortunately, Dorian had magic.

Conjured lubrication tended to vanish if you failed to maintain the spell, but Dorian was very good at dividing his attention. He slipped two fingers inside himself and compounded the lubrication spell with the modifier that he’d designed—a targeted paralysis spell that left muscles lax against a very small, insistently expanding barrier. It was, frankly, probably one of the most delicate and ingenious inventions of spellcrafting in over an age, and Dorian longed for the day he could receive his due recognition from the College of Enchanters in Minrathous.

Well, in the meantime, he’d settle for being able to take a cock on short notice without too much discomfort.

In a hidden nook in the dark, he rose and braced himself against a bookshelf and invited the Baron to fuck him. The Baron eagerly did, hands gripping his ass, moans muffled against the back of his shoulder as he thrust away. It wasn’t exactly scintillating, but it was the first fuck Dorian had _had_ in…entirely too long. So he was feeling generous.

He even let the man spill inside him, which was quite nice of him—though the Baron really didn’t ask, which made Dorian immediately regret being so nice. _Well, no matter._ It was sex. He brought himself off quite easily, careful not to soil any of the books, and he considered the evening more or less redeemed.

They returned separately, Dorian having cleaned himself up, back to perfection. The familiar fun of returning to a party with that dull, throbbing ache in his ass. Loose and freshly fucked, and no one aware. It always delighted him to feel the repercussions of a tryst while carrying on the banal chit-chat.

_Ha. So there._

Only one thing dulled the triumphant moment—when Iron Bull passed him, and paused. Studied him. “Something the matter?”

“Heh.” A shaking head, gold caps glinting sharply. “Nah. Congratulations, big guy. Baron de…what was it again?”

It was annoying that Iron Bull knew. Dorian sniffed. “I’ve forgotten.”

A shrug of massive shoulders. _He should be painted_ , Dorian thought. Not real vitaar; it was toxic. But he ought to suggest fake vitaar for next time. It added to the barbaric image. “Well, anyway. Glad you had some fun at this party. I’m falling asleep here, myself.”

Dorian snorted. “I doubt that, my good _spy_. But do continue the charade, don’t let me stop you.”

The Bull grinned. “You’re the boss, big guy.” Dorian sighed. _Lowbrow charms,_ he thought. _How quaint._

\--

Though War Room meetings were usually for the leaders, Cadash liked to inflict them on a broader group at least once a week, when in Skyhold. Thus, although Dorian was rarely involved in missions, he did still keep abreast of things through these regular interruptions to his research.

At such a meeting, shortly after Skyhold’s first banquet: “And Baron de Chastois donated a considerable sum as a gesture of support.” Josephine handed a paper to Cadash. “Surprisingly.”

Dorian was only half paying attention. Truth be told, he’d been gazing out the window, but had noted horn tips in close proximity and been diverted to studying them, wondering how sharp they were without the gilded caps. Cadash hummed, reading. Vivienne glanced his way; Dorian didn’t notice.

“We may have Dorian to thank for that,” she commented.

“Hmm?” He glanced back at the table.

“Why?” Cadash asked shortly.

“I understand the Baron found him quite interesting,” Vivienne mildly commented. She nodded to Dorian. “I underestimated you.”

_Oh._

Cadash grunted. “Made yourself useful then, mage? Good.”

_Ah._

“Any time,” he lightly replied, with a hollow smile. He felt a bit…well. He didn’t think Madam de Fer or the Inquisitor were associating the Baron’s gift with _that_. He didn’t think they even knew, precisely. Not for certain, at least. Vivienne probably wondered if it had been just fascinating conversation—or something more. Cadash probably wondered nothing at all.

Dorian wondered if the Baron had really meant the money as… _repayment_ for…

_Well, I’m probably overthinking it._

Still. It hadn’t been an especially prized memory to begin with, and this revelation did nothing to improve his feelings about it.

But, after all, why feel anything? It was no different from countless other trysts; there had been no bargaining, and the Baron Whomever could donate Whatever he liked. It was no concern of Dorian’s.

Oddly, Iron Bull spoke to him on the way out. “Hey, Dorian?”

“Yes?”

The lumbering giant stood there, scratching at a horn. “Sorry if this is a rude question, but…did the Baron guy tell you he’d support us? You know. _If?_ ”

Annoyed with the question, Dorian answered bluntly. “No. Why?”

Another shrug that was like heaving boulders. “No reason, just wondering. Sorry for asking.”

Uninterested in continuing this conversation, Dorian returned to the library. There was a particular shelf he avoided looking at, burying himself in the research at his desk, trying to ignore the awareness of that out-of-sight corner.

\--

Dorian pretended to study the chess board and slyly studied Cullen’s hands instead—or his bare throat. So appealing, such a pity. Well. There was no law against looking.

“Your second-in-command is called Rylen, yes?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes.” Cullen, absorbed in the game, took a moment to add: “Why?”

Dorian smiled. “I like his accent.”

“He’s from Stark— _oh._ ”

“Is he involved with anyone?”

Cullen sighed. “Not officially, but I understand there’s someone he’s particularly taken with.” He gave Dorian an apologetic look. “A young lady.”

“Ah well.” Dorian moved a tower. “What about Delrin Barris?”

At that, Cullen frowned. “I don’t know. Are you interested in him?”

“It’s difficult to say.” He tapped the tower thoughtfully before deciding to leave it in place. “It can be uncomfortable to tolerate Templars at close range—yourself excepted. You doubtless have no idea how much more pleasant you are to be around without lyrium in your system. With the others, it can be—grating.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Cullen touched a pawn, but didn’t move it. “That aside, if you think you _would_ be interested in Barris, I can talk to him for you, if you like.”

Dorian let himself be radiant. “You’re so accommodating, Commander.”

“Is that a ‘yes,’ you’re interested?”

He hummed. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Cullen smiled and moved his queen. “I’ll see what he thinks.”

\--

Vivienne had always hosted salons in Val Royeaux, so it was no surprise that she hosted one at Skyhold as soon as she judged the place fit for her company. Dorian was pointedly invited. Madam de Fer was frank about the reason.

“Normally, darling, your presence would be too controversial at such an intimate affair as this.” There were at least fifty nobles on the guest list. “You’d be too offensive. But Duke Bouchard mentioned you by name when he replied to the invitation. He specifically asked to meet you. And Lady Montilyet and I agree that his favor is well worth courting.” She set her tea cup down silently and regarded Dorian. “If you’ve no objections to being introduced, I thought you might divert him with your self-proclaimed wit and charm. Perhaps give him a personal tour of Skyhold—the presentable parts, naturally.”

“Naturally.” Dorian smiled. “Any idea why he wants to meet me?”

“None whatsoever, darling. See you tomorrow evening. Wear blue, if you can.”

So Dorian wore deep blue robes and let himself be presented to Duke Bouchard. The Inquisitor was present, too, and was, with Josephine, the one to hand the Duke off to Dorian. Vivienne conducted the introduction, however.

“Lord Pavus. What an incomparable delight.” He was soft-spoken. A less pronounced accent than most Orlesians.

“Likewise, Duke Bouchard. I’m honored.”

Vivienne was also introducing a few others, and in the moment the Duke’s attention was distracted, Cadash leaned toward Dorian, muttering: “He’s our biggest new supporter as of this afternoon. Don’t fuck this up for us.”

Thus warned, Dorian made no effort to stir from the Duke’s side and offered him food and drink with just enough peerage to keep from appearing to wait upon him like a servant. He also made no move to cling—had the Duke attempted to remove himself from Dorian, he would have had no trouble.

He did not.

They talked through the entire salon. It was not a fascinating conversation, but it was not so terribly dull, either. Mostly because the Duke was a skilled enough conversationalist to avoid talking too long about himself, and he always knew when to punctuate with a question about Dorian, Tevinter, or magical studies.

Little that they talked of proved memorable—apart from the fact that the Duke’s wife had died some ten years before. He mentioned his grown children, but thankfully did not go on about them interminably. Dorian asked polite questions of his own, which seemed to please the Duke. Later on, when it seemed like the unchanging scenery might be getting tiresome, he suggested a tour of the battlements. The Duke gladly accepted.

The moons were high by this time, silver light broken by warm torchlight whenever they passed one. Conversation came around to the Duke’s interest in the Inquisition and his recent support.

“We are very grateful to have you as an ally,” Dorian remarked.

“Well, this Inquisition closed the Breach when no one else was doing anything. I think the nobility should perhaps bear that in mind, above whatever criticisms they cherish, don’t you agree?” The Duke’s eyes were dark. As they so often had tonight, they met his own eyes directly. Dorian wondered if the man was only being bold because of his frilly little mask.

“You’re commendably broad-minded, Duke Bouchard.”

“Please.” The man stopped, in the light of a torch, and placed a hand on Dorian’s arm. “ _Ferdinand._ ” He smiled. “We have talked all evening; surely we can dispense with formalities now?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Dorian answered, pleasantly smiling.

“Then—I may call you _Dorian?_ ” Duke Ferdinand turned toward him. His hand did not lift.

“Naturally.”

A pleased smile. “Thank you…Dorian.” The man’s dark eyes roamed his face, admiration clear in them. Duke Ferdinand’s touch slipped down his arm, and Dorian let the man lift his hand. “You are such a beautiful man…”

Lips brushed the backs of his fingers, and Dorian blinked, though his face did not show his surprise. He laughed softly. “So I’ve frequently told all who will listen.”

“Mmmm.” Two hands cradled his one. “You should not have to say so. You should be praised by all who meet you, Dorian.” Then, apropos of nothing, it seemed, he added, “Would you do me the honor of joining me in my quarters for a drink?”

 _“Don’t fuck this up,”_ Cadash had said, but really, why would Dorian refuse? A gentleman wanted to charm him, and he was certainly doing a good job of it. It was easy to smile and say, “I would be delighted.”

Duke Ferdinand’s guest quarters were small but opulent, considering the poor repair of most rooms in Skyhold. His wine was _excellent_. Dorian suspected he’d brought it from his own cellar. If Skyhold had anything of such quality, Dorian had yet to discover it.

“A toast,” the Duke proposed, smiling. “To the Inquisition’s success.”

Dorian raised his glass in agreement. They clinked together, and as he sipped his wine, the Duke added, “And to you—the unparalleled beauty in this lofty castle in the sky.”

Managing not to choke, Dorian lowered his glass. “Really, Ferdinand. You are too extravagant.”

“In admiring you? Not possible,” the man declared. Then, he set his glass down on a table. “Allow me to show you extravagance, if you will call it that.”

The kiss that followed was expected, by now, but still surprising. It was soft, but not shy or uncertain. Deep, and flavored with excellent wine—and passion. When the Duke released him, Dorian murmured, “Oh, I see.”

“Not yet,” the man answered, smiling at him and pulling him close. Bodies pressed together, he kissed Dorian again.

The offer was so appealing, Dorian found he was quite happy to accept.

He let the Duke undress him and take him to bed. The kissing continued. The warmth of the fire and the wine and the body against him, skin to skin, and the slow dance of the Duke’s hands over his body—it was like a dream. It was almost too perfect. Dorian did not _have_ nights like this. He had furtive trysts, not romance. He would have begun to wonder if it was real—except for one thing. The Duke never took his mask off. He took off everything else, and the persistence of the mask was so comically Orlesian that it brought the whole evening back to reality.

 _Well, all right—two things._ The mask—and the Duke’s rather insubstantial cock. The Duke was not pathetically under-equipped, but he did not boast anything that Dorian would have dreamt up, either.

As it turned out, it wasn’t such a detriment. He was good with it. His stamina and rhythm were excellent, and a smaller cock had the benefit of being easier to take. Dorian lay spread out upon silks and gazed up at the man inside him and noticed the slight streaks of grey in his hair. He wondered how he’d missed it before, but after all, it was only a very little.

The Duke was an attentive lover. He made certain of Dorian’s pleasure, stroking him constantly as he fucked into him, slow and sensual. At length, Dorian began to moan and writhe—not out of intensity from the sex, but impatience began to build to an intolerable level. As much as he was enjoying the Duke, he needed to _come_.

Finally, he could bear it no more. He succumbed to a gentle squeeze of the Duke’s hand and spilled over his own stomach. The man moaned, watching him with admiring eyes, and not long after, he pulled out and stroked his own cock until he spent himself over Dorian’s body.

Dorian thought that would be all, but not so. The Duke brought their glasses to bed and continued to touch him, murmuring praise as they finished the wine. This led into more kissing, which led into another round. It took a while to get there—the Duke’s cock was slow to rise again, but eventually it did. He slid back into Dorian and fucked him just as slow and tantalizing as their first time. Dorian would have liked the second round to be more energetic—perhaps even rough—but it was very sweet, and ultimately so satisfying that he couldn’t complain.

He had sex twice in one night with a very considerate man, who welcomed him to spend the night in his bed and seemed utterly taken with him—and what was there to dislike about that?

\--

Duke Ferdinand was absent when Dorian woke. He dressed and departed just before servants began arriving to take the Duke’s trunk. A few of the guests were staying longer, but most were leaving today.

Dorian found the man near the gates of Skyhold, exchanging formal farewells with everyone important. He spotted Dorian and smiled, and Dorian smiled himself when the Duke promptly came over to him.

“Ah, _mon cher_ , I am glad you have come. I wished to thank you for a delightful evening. It was well worth the expense and time to come here.”

Smiling at the man kissing his hand again, Dorian replied, “I didn’t know you would be leaving so soon. If we had more time, I could make your stay even better.”

“Ah,” the Duke smiled, placing a hand on his cheek. He leaned in and kissed Dorian—brief and quick. “You are generous, but I will not be greedy, _mon cher_. You gave me all that I wanted. A beautiful encounter with an exotic young man—exactly as I hoped.” He patted Dorian’s hand. “I wish you well, _mon cher_ , and your Inquisition too.”

 _Ah._ “Of course. Safe travels, Duke…” But he trailed off there. The Duke had already turned away, and Dorian would not speak the man’s name to his back.

He watched the Orlesian nobles depart, because…because obviously that was what he’d come to do. He wasn’t about to flee prematurely. He hadn’t any reason to wish to be away from these…frilly, self-satisfied, mask-infatuated…

“Hey.”

And of course, the Iron Bull _would_ come annoy him _now_.

“If you’re lost, the training grounds are _that_ way.” Dorian indicated the upper courtyard with a dismissive wave. “No one over here is interested in being pounded with a shield.”

The lout grinned. “I can pound people with other things, too. If they want it.”

Teeth locked together: “Well, no one here does.” Dorian’s voice was, possibly, acidic.

Iron Bull paused and studied him—much too long. Dorian refused to flinch under the gaze, but it took a stone will to bear it with equanimity. Then, at last: “Did he hurt you?”

“What? _No,_ ” Dorian snapped.

Another long pause. Finally, softly: “Yeah he did.”

Throat working, Dorian stopped himself from saying four or five unpleasant things. In the end, he turned away abruptly and left without a word. He needed a _bath_.

\--

The Templars were training. Dorian had better things to do, but he’d drained his stock of alcohol two nights ago, so he took a midday break from research and stopped in at the tavern to purchase some more from Cabot. On the way back, he slowed and stopped to watch the drills a bit—from a comfortable distance. Mages would not like to stand too close, particularly when Templars were practicing their Smites.

And lo and behold, within a few minutes Templar Barris had noticed him, and he headed over to Dorian.

“Lord Pavus.” The Templar hesitated a moment, then bowed slightly. “Ah, forgive my presumption, but Commander Cullen informed me last week that—” His dark face didn’t show blushes, but Dorian guessed the man was blushing anyway. “That is, perhaps, when you have time, we could…talk a bit?”

With an inviting smile, Dorian offered: “I shall be available this evening. We could meet in the tavern for a drink, or…” He held up the wine bottle, “save coin and share this?”

“Oh yes,” Barris agreed quickly. “I wouldn’t wish you cause you any additional expense…”

“Come by my room tonight,” Dorian suggested. “Then we can talk.”

\--

Delrin Barris was out of armor when he arrived at Dorian’s door—the first time he’d seen the Templar in simple clothing. He looked smaller, of course, but much more inviting to the touch. Dorian welcomed him in and poured him a drink.

The man drained it, fast.

Amused, Dorian began: “I’m not certain what the Commander told you, Templar Barris, but if you are nervous, you really don’t need to be.”

“No, I—or. Ah.” Barris glanced at him. Seemed to gather his courage. “You know Templars rarely marry, right?”

Raising his eyebrows a degree, Dorian shrugged. “I had heard that, yes.” _He doesn’t think I’m proposing…does he? Oh Cullen, please tell me you didn’t…_

“Some do, of course, with the Order’s permission,” Barris hurried on. “But generally our, um, relationships are informal. Some don’t have any relationships at all.”

“Ah, the rare but very devout vow of celibacy,” Dorian smiled. “It’s good that isn’t required, yes?”

“Yes…I mean, no! I mean…” Barris seemed to realize he was fiddling with his glass, and he set it down quickly. “That…that vow isn’t required, you’re right. And I, personally, have not taken it. Yet.”

Dorian’s attention sharpened. “Yet?” This seemed to be the point Barris was working toward.

The man winced. “Well, I’ve always liked the idea. I mean…I felt drawn to it, from the very beginning. But I haven’t taken the vow yet because I thought I shouldn’t be too hasty. I should be certain that I won’t regret it. But it’s been…on my mind. More and more, lately. I’ve been thinking I might soon take the vow.”

 _Ah. Oh well. So much for that,_ Dorian supposed. “How devout of you,” he commented neutrally.

Barris’ dark eyes focused on his face. “Well, Lord Pavus…um. Pardon my unmannered speech—I’m only a second son, you know. Not nearly as lofty a person as yourself. But Commander Cullen said you might be…interested.” He cleared his throat. “In me.” He swallowed. “Though why in the Maker’s world I don’t know, but I’m flattered, Lord Pavus, I _really_ am…”

Sensing a refusal, Dorian tried to make things easier on the poor young man. “Ser Barris, you needn’t feel guilty about refusing me, truly. Had I known the subject would cause you such turmoil I’d never have said anything to Cullen about—”

“No no!” Barris interrupted. “That is, I mean…I’m flattered, and surprised, but I have no wish to refuse you! I just…I don’t know what to make of your attention. You’re above me, Ser, in every way. I’d be honored to—ahem. But I wanted to also make my position clear, because I really do think I’ll be taking the vow of celibacy soon. I didn’t want to mislead you, or enter anything under false pretenses.”

 _Well. That changes matters._ Dorian set his own wine glass aside and decided to help the brave young man out. “So, to be as clear as we may be, if I desire to spend the night with you—which I do,” he added, “you would like that? So long as we both agree it will only be for one night, and then you will take your vow as planned? And I shall not mistake this choice of yours for having anything to do with me?”

Absolute relief. “Yes, Lord Pavus, exactly that. I wouldn’t want you to expect more, and I would _hate_ to make you think I’d gone and taken the vow because of something that happened between us.”

Dorian smiled. “I will not think that, Templar Barris.” Then, rising: “May I call you Delrin, tonight?”

“Yes,” the man breathed, looking up at him in obvious awe. Dorian was charmed. _Sincerity_. The complete impossibility of lies and pretense for this man. It was delightful.

“Then call me Dorian, if you would,” he reached for Delrin’s hand and pulled the man to his feet, “and let’s have no regrets after this.”

“Yes, of course, L—ah. Dorian.”

Touching a Templar was a little jarring, at first. It made his skin tingle in a way that was not pleasant, but the first discomfort faded quickly—or Dorian grew accustomed to it quickly and ceased to notice it. And after all, Templars had their charms.

Delrin, naturally, was a soldier—and consequently a strong, well-built man. His lips were full and soft, lovely to kiss—even lovelier on Dorian’s throat. Best of all wrapped around his cock, which Delrin was eager to offer. Dorian lay on his bed, slowly working his clothing off, and enjoyed Delrin’s enthusiastic mouth on him.

The man had the most delectable ass Dorian had ever seen. He couldn’t keep his hands off it, and Delrin liked that. He liked it very much. He begged Dorian to fuck him without any shame, and Dorian gladly did. The man’s dark, muscled back was lovely in the firelight, and his round ass filled Dorian’s hands as he thrust inside him, just hard enough to make it jiggle. Delrin moaned each time.

All the man’s awkwardness and hesitation disappeared with their clothing, and after Dorian had fucked him, he wrapped his arms around Dorian and rolled over him, kissing him hungrily. His fingers stroked Dorian’s rim, and he murmured, “Let me?”

 _The brazenness of a simple man,_ Dorian thought, smiling. It was terribly seductive—entirely without artifice, which only made him want it more.

“I insist,” he purred. Particularly considering:

Delrin’s cock.

It was wonderful—not very long, but quite thick. It challenged him a bit, and Dorian loved a challenge. Loved the burn and the stretch as Delrin opened him up with it. Loved the way the man fucked him with it, the way it so easily pressed the best spot inside him. Loved the way Delrin knelt between his spread thighs and thrust into him while Dorian watched his abs ripple and sweat run in rivulets between his muscles.

Dorian invited Delrin to spend himself inside him, and the man moaned and thanked him breathlessly, and not long after, he did. He sucked Dorian’s cock again right away, bringing him off quickly and swallowing his spend, then slowly kissing his body, as though he wished to taste every inch of Dorian.

It was an absolutely excellent night.

It was a little sad that there would be no second time, but all had been clearly agreed upon in advance, so Dorian did not feel the sting of regret over it. A little wistful, but resigned—that was all. And Delrin Barris was so sweet and attentive and kind and _grateful_ afterward that Dorian quite forgot to feel sorry about anything.

So it was only once. Well, no matter. It was a good night, and it reminded him that good nights were possible. Dorian resolved that he would find another fine man and have something very like this and make it last. He could do it. He was charming, and lovers like this were out there; it was only a matter of time.

\--

As Skyhold grew more presentable and the Inquisition more important, the pilgrims and recruits grew more numerous, as well as the nobility—the potential patrons.

There was no specific event on the immediate schedule when Dorian met the Antivan. He was simply among the visiting upper class. He was clearly there mostly for trade purposes, and Dorian saw him twice in Josephine’s company before there was an occasion for introduction.

He was called Cesrio Giuvano, and his features were sharp and his eyes dark and clever. He was very Antivan indeed. After their first brief introduction, Cesrio soon came and found Dorian in the library. He asked about Dorian’s research, with a tone that was polite, but made it clear he had other matters he wished to discuss more.

“Your family holds a seat in the Magisterium, I understand?”

“Yes. My father, Halward, represents House Pavus.”

“You must be a mage of remarkable skill. Educated by the very best, no?” A hint of a smile.

“Naturally.” Dorian’s smile was more honest. Why should he play false modesty over his true talents? “I am very good with magic. The Inquisitor does not like magic much, but you mustn’t think I molder away in libraries for lack of any other skill.”

“Certainly not.” Cesrio grinned sharply. “I have often heard that the alti of Tevinter use their magic in the most delightfully creative ways. Is it true there are men who can enchant their members to resemble the cock of a horse?”

Dorian blinked, then laughed aloud. “What a preposterous notion! Goodness, I’ve never heard of such a thing. Are all Antivans interested in the bizarre?”

Cesrio chuckled. “Well, perhaps we fancy the impossible. You know, I myself like danger. Perhaps too much.” He winked, brushing fingertips over Dorian’s shoulder. “Pity you are not a magister. I have such terrible fantasies about magisters. You would be shocked.”

“Ha! Try me.” Dorian leaned his hip on the edge of his desk.

Cesrio grinned, subtly licking his lips.

He had a fertile imagination.

Thankfully, his ideas of danger and excitement did not tend toward the grotesque. He was very curious about what magic could do, how it might be used in bed, how it would feel, how it would change the rules generally set by biology. Dorian described some of his own favorite spells. Cesrio moved closer.

The flirting became shameless. It was inevitable—the hot circle of Cesrio’s mouth on his throat. The stroking touch to his hip, the thumb ticking closer and closer to Dorian’s groin. The breathless request: “Show me.”

The whole night that followed.

The first thing Cesrio wanted to prove was whether magic could renew a man’s erection when nature finally lost interest. The answer—yes, of course, very easily. Dorian also showed him the gentler uses of lightning spells, the tingle and shock, the humming of energy in just the right place. Cesrio was a man of stamina. Rejuvenation magic made him a man insatiable.

Dorian spent the entire night in his bed. They barely slept an hour, shortly before dawn. Then Cesrio was up again, having the servants bring him a bath. He wanted Dorian to share it with him, and the tub was huge.

Dorian could barely stand, but he made it to the tub and lay in the hot water, limp and spent. Cesrio fingered his soft, well-used hole, mouth revisiting his neck and chest, tongue on dark bruises. “Ah, you are so tired, my sweet mage,” he murmured. “Have I used you too hard?”

He sighed. Being the recipient was always a little more physically demanding, and being the one to supply all the magic had added to Dorian’s exhaustion on another level, but he had no interest in admitting any of this. “Of course not,” he murmured. “I’ve much more to show you. Shall we go again?” His smirk was wicked, even as Dorian secretly wished for nothing but _sleep_ , followed by water and food, and then more of this lovely bath.

Low, pleased laughter. “I long to, my beauty, but there is business to attend. Still, I would risk tardiness to have you again…but perhaps, if I may?” His thumb pressed the center of Dorian’s bottom lip. His cock, under the water, was hard against Dorian’s leg. It was a very nice cock, shapely and strong. Dorian smiled.

“Let me drink your seed,” he whispered, and Cesrio moaned.

The Antivan stood and fed his cock between Dorian’s lips and smoothly, sensually fucked his throat while the bath slowly cooled. He came with a gasp, and Dorian fulfilled his promise. His own cock did not stir—he was beyond that, by now. He could have used magic on himself, but he really preferred to sleep.

Cesrio stretched like a contented cat and bent to kiss him, tongues together in lavish filth. “Stay in my bed, my beautiful mage,” he purred. “Sleep, and later, I will have food sent to you. Don’t go to your books, either. If you wish to work, tell the servant who brings your breakfast which volumes to fetch. I want you here when I return.”

Grinning, Dorian agreed.

\--

In the middle of the afternoon, Cesrio returned and fucked him, standing against the wall, still clothed. He spent himself inside Dorian, though he had little left by now. “Is there a spell for that?” he asked, and Dorian had to admit he didn’t know one. But…

“I’ll do a little more research and see what I can come up with,” he promised.

Obviously pleased, Cesrio returned to his business. Dorian lay in bed and began reviewing organic spellcrafting.

\--

Cesrio’s week-long visit had three days remaining in it when Dorian went to bed with him, and Dorian spent an unpardonable amount of time in those three days having sex with Cesrio. He little knew nor cared what the rest of Skyhold was doing; he was too busy keeping up with his lover’s ravenous sexual appetite.

Their parting was: first—vigorous; second—drenched with flowery proclamations of regret; third—cordial. The last, in public, was in front of Josephine and the Inquisitor. Despite the audience, Cesrio declared himself eager to return for another productive visit, and his eyes were laden with intimacy as they met Dorian’s.

 _Well. How unexpected._ He had a paramour who wished to continue the relationship—and Antivan, of all things, but perhaps he could be generous and forgive a small failing or two.

As soon as Cesrio rode out of the gates, Josephine grabbed Dorian and hugged him. “You are a _genius,_ Lord Pavus!”

“I beg your pardon?”

The Inquisitor arched one questioning eyebrow.

Josephine radiated triumph. “Whatever you did, _please_ keep doing it! He was the most difficult man I have ever attempted to negotiate with. I could get no concessions out of him, his prices and demands were unreasonable, but there was simply no one else we could make a deal with! I was beside myself trying to please him, and then one day, suddenly, he is so relaxed and he starts making concessions left and right. I even began to wonder if he was all right! I asked if he remembered that he had been firm in declaring he would _never_ come down that far, and he waved it off with a smile and said never mind what he’d said, he was feeling magnanimous, and then it was all magnanimity for three days! How _ever_ did you persuade him to take such a sympathetic view of our cause?”

“I…” Dorian swallowed. _I fucked him. Extensively._

“Hmph.” Cadash grunted. “If _you_ had a hand in this, good work. Keep it up.”

The Inquisitor left, and Dorian dared to ask Josephine, “Did he…say that he was being cooperative because of me? In exchange for…my time?”

Dark eyes blinked. “No, not at all. But he clearly enjoyed your company. Or you found some way of relaxing him. He was simply in such an excellent mood after he met you that he became…well, pliable. It was quite a boon for the Inquisition, I assure you.”

Well. That wasn’t… _bad_ , then. If that was the case. He hadn’t known or intended it, and he couldn’t imagine that Cesrio had intended it either, considering the financial repercussions for his trading business. Even so, Dorian suddenly felt that he wasn’t looking forward to seeing the Antivan again, and hoped it would be a long time. Perhaps the man would forget him and never return.

Certainly, if he _did_ return, he would not “keep it up” as Cadash suggested. Now that he _knew_ , such profiteering was out of the question. Surely.

\--

“Hey, big guy. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Dorian smiled blandly. “Well. We frequent different parts of Skyhold.”

Iron Bull shrugged. Could mountains shrug? Even if not, they were really the best metaphor. “I stopped by the library a couple times. Your chair’s getting dusty.”

Arching a critical eyebrow, Dorian shifted his hold on the bottle he’d come to the tavern to buy. “If you’ve that much free time, you must not be doing your job as a spy. Whatever will Koslun think?”

Iron Bull said something in Qunlat, then. Dorian blinked at him. He grinned. “ _Even the wind rests._ ”

“Well, I was _not_ resting,” Dorian mumbled.

“Yeah.” Bull studied him. “That Antivan merchant, right?”

Dorian sighed. “Maker, should I even ask how you know?”

“His assistant,” Bull answered easily. “He usually works her pretty hard. She needed to relax, too. And then she felt like talking. You know. After.”

“So I took care of the master and you took care of the aide, and between us we earned the Inquisition a lucrative trading deal in Antiva. Lovely.”

“I wasn’t doing it for that,” Bull disagreed quietly. “…Were you?”

“I…” Dorian hesitated. “I hadn’t meant to.”

Bull’s eye lingered on him, full of thought. Dorian dreaded to think what conclusions the spy must be drawing. He hoped they would not find their way back to Par Vollen…but who was he trying to fool? If there was anything useful, Bull would give it to Par Vollen.

Then: “Well, anyway. You going to keep buying wine and drinking it alone?”

“Pardon?”

“I’m just saying. Drinks are in the tavern. Company’s pretty good too. Templar Barris joins us a lot these days. He asked if you ever did. I think he’d like to see you around sometimes.”

Dorian had it on good authority that Delrin Barris had taken his vow of celibacy recently. “I can’t imagine why,” he murmured. They were finished, after all. There was nothing to get hopeful for.

Bull smiled. “Because you’re a good guy and he likes being around you? I’m surprised this isn’t obvious to you, Dorian. You’re usually the one telling the rest of us how great you are.”

“Those around me are generally in need of the reminder. I’m only surprised the obvious seems to finally be sinking in.”

Bull shook his head. “All right, Vint. Come plant your sparkly ass in the tavern once in a while. Maybe we’ll catch on quicker.”

\--

The Inquisition laid siege to Adamant Fortress, which was the most momentous thing Dorian had done in quite a while. He rarely went out in the field, but he was still a powerful mage. He did a fair amount of damage; they all did. The Wardens fell. Cadash also fell—into the Fade. No one thought the Inquisitor would come back from that. Dorian was relieved it hadn’t been him, but unsure what they would do now…

And then Cadash reappeared and banished the entire Warden order for their willingness to play with blood magic and demons. The Inquisitor did _not_ like demons.

Life in Skyhold returned to normal after that. Several weeks of little to do. Dorian tried to keep busy, but he had more than enough time to dally in the tavern of an evening. He continued to play chess with Cullen and regret the man’s disinterest and imagine, just to himself, how nice it would be if Cullen would change his mind. Or if Dorian could find another man like him.

Sometimes, he wondered why he was still here. He wasn’t accomplishing much. He wanted to help, but Cadash’s fear of magic was absolute. Among mages, Vivienne alone was trusted, due to her loud praise for the Templars and the Circle. That, and Cadash didn’t like social events, and was glad to leave them to Vivienne and Josephine.

And social events there were. Skyhold was beginning to show real progress, and the political among their leadership were eager to show it off. Dorian, as usual, was expected to attend. He was also told why, during one of their group War Room meetings.

“This reply came. It mentions you.” Cadash handed him a letter.

Dorian scanned the contents. “Who is this Lord Donovan?”

“An Oswick nobleman of considerable wealth,” Josephine answered. “Largely procured through his extremely lucrative marriage to Lady Mirielle Servano of Antiva.”

“His wife won’t be joining us,” Vivienne explained.

“A pity,” Josephine sighed. “She would have been much easier to sway as a supporter of our cause. My own connections in Antiva would be most useful. But with Lord Donovan himself, there is little I can try.”

Dorian glanced at Vivienne. “Don’t look at me, darling. I was raised in Wycome.”

“So it falls to me,” Dorian observed mildly. There was little in the letter to go on. Merely that Lord Donovan would grace the Inquisition with his presence on the condition that he would be able to meet with Dorian Pavus of Tevinter. It reminded him of Duke Ferdinand. His stomach turned slightly at the thought. But—best not to judge before he met the man and found out what he wanted.

Iron Bull watched silently. Two topic changes later, the fake vitaar was agreed upon. Bull’s suggestion of pink silk pants was vetoed.

\--

Lord Donovan was a broad, square-jawed man with sandy hair and beard. He was of a height with Dorian, and he looked well in finery, but he gave off the air of a woodsman. He did not seem to care for the banquet much. Dorian suggested a walk in the garden.

As soon as they were alone: “Lord Pavus, allow me to be frank. I have heard you prefer male lovers.”

He stopped there, abruptly. It took Dorian a moment to realize he was expected to answer. “…Yes. I do.” His stomach was knotted, the memory of the Duke clearer and clearer.

“So do I,” Lord Donovan nodded. “However, my family forced me into a marriage for the sake of wealth—a role I am now required to wear perpetually.” His frown was deepening into a scowl, but he seemed to catch himself and try to smooth it away a bit.

“I am sorry to hear that,” Dorian offered. “I can sympathize quite well; my own family attempted the same thing.”

“Then you understand. And you have done better than I.” The man withdrew an envelope from his pocket. “I do not wish to play courtly games with you, Ser. Let me be plain. My wife comes from an Antivan family much at odds with several houses in Tevinter. She quite despises your homeland and everyone in it. I, for my part, quite despise my wife—a mutual feeling.”

“At least you have something in common…”

A snort. “Yes, that—and a mutual pastime of infuriating each other. And that is my aim here. I would like to have an affair with a nobleman from Tevinter. You. She would be extremely angry.” He extended the envelope. “This is a list of the resources I am prepared to donate to the Inquisition. I would like the affair to be as public as possible. If you agree, I would present all this as a personal gift to you, my lover—with the understanding that you will put it at the Inquisition’s disposal.” He shrugged. “If that is your wish. Honestly, if you kept it all for yourself, I see no reason to care.”

Somewhat taken aback, Dorian read through the list. He was not intimately aware of every detail of the Inquisition’s finances, but it was obvious that the support would be considerable. “I fetch quite a high price,” he murmured, staring at the page.

“Not you, Ser—at least, not only you. Every time I enrage my wife, I hope she will decide she has had enough and leave me. _That_ would be worth _any_ price.” He frowned again, deeper. “Though I do not mean to say that you yourself are undesirable. The opposite, in fact.”

“So you wish the affair to be real.”

“I think it necessary. You should be seen by several people leaving my chambers afterward, and I would like us to exchange letters for a while. I plan to let my wife find them, so your indiscretion would be appreciated. And for that, you’ll need true experience to provide accurate details, I think.”

The bargain was clear. Dorian gazed at the list, then folded it and put it away. Lord Donovan had been frank about every detail—but there was more to it than Donovan knew.

_If I could present Cadash with all this…_

Well, the Inquisitor would still probably not _like_ him. But perhaps Dorian would finally register as a valued contributor to the cause.

_I could also tell Leliana about it. She and Josephine and Vivienne will certainly find ways to profit off this troubled marriage._

Lord Donovan had not asked for secrecy. Indeed, he wanted the opposite. The only secret, apparently, would be that he and Dorian were not really in love.

But what did love have to do with anything, after all?

“Tonight?” Dorian asked, glancing up.

A nod. “As soon as possible. There should still be people awake and about the castle to notice.”

“Which is your room?” Lord Donovan told him one of the most centrally located guest chambers. A very visible spot. Dorian hummed. “I’ll excuse myself, then, and join you there shortly. If you think…”

The garden door opened, voices flowing out from the crowded hall. Several people were silhouetted in the light from within. Dorian, seeing an opportunity, reached for Lord Donovan, wrapped himself around the man, and kissed him wildly.

Lord Donovan caught on quickly, grabbing handfuls of his ass and hanging on—as Dorian did—just a little too long. The voices suddenly dropped. Someone, at least, had seen. Dorian then pulled back and “fled” up the stairs to the battlements.

Once out of sight, he evened his pace and returned to his room. Mechanically, he bathed himself, carrying out the hygienic routines customary when one planned for sex. He also had a glass or two of wine, and slipped his favorite scented oil into his pocket—sandalwood. He’d make sure it got on Lord Donovan’s things, and it would still be detectable when he got home, provided he had the sense not to wash it out.

\--

He was seen entering Lord Donovan’s room, and two hours later, when quite a few of the guests were retiring, he was seen sneaking out—disheveled, hair still damp with sweat, and limping.

In his mind, Dorian knew he should feel something about this. It was unpleasant, at the very least. But somehow, what he knew to be true wasn’t reaching very deep into him. He felt mostly calm, and uncaring, and afterward—quite satisfied.

Lord Donovan was good, after all.

He was strong, for a nobleman, and more than adequately equipped. He was also sincere, once they were alone again. As much as the primary reason for this was to anger his wife, Lord Donovan was indeed very attracted to Dorian. He wasn’t good at showing it when they were talking, and even when they were alone, he was bad at flirting. He tried, and it only made him come across as suddenly awkward and nervous. A remarkable contrast to his manner once they’d begun.

Donovan tried to apologize and explain, at first, that he so rarely was able to do this with a man he genuinely desired. He was bashfully trying to tell Dorian he was going to fuck his brains out, and Dorian truly didn’t believe him until it happened.

It was a rough fuck. Lord Donovan bent him over and rode him hard, lifting one of Dorian’s legs to open him up as much as possible. The oil dripped everywhere as Donovan fucked him ruthlessly, his balls slapping Dorian’s over and over.

Then Donovan took him to the bed and put blatant kiss marks on his throat, encouraging Dorian to do the same. He was given a little tour of Donovan’s body, to make certain he could put the most intimate details in his letters. Then Donovan fucked him again—a little slower, but just as intensely.

Dorian had not expected to enjoy himself, but he did.

He _had_ expected to be sick at himself, and he was. Afterward, back in his own room—he was.

\--

Dorian presented the list in its entirety to Cadash at the next group War Room meeting. He had no desire to keep anything back for himself. “The material support you may expect Lord Donovan to provide within a few weeks,” he explained, and that was all.

Vivienne read it over Cadash’s shoulder and arched an eyebrow. “How ever did you manage _that_ , darling?”

“I slept with him.”

The silence in the room was complete. Dorian calmly explained the antipathy between Lord and Lady Donovan. Josephine belatedly started scribbling notes, while Leliana and Vivienne just nodded. “We can make use of this.”

“Indeed,” Vivienne agreed. She looked as though there was a five-volume treatise packed into that one word.

Cadash grunted. “Good job.”

That was all. Only on the way out: “Dorian, dear, a moment.”

“Yes, Madam de Fer?”

“If I may ask, do you intend to make a habit out of this?”

“Make a habit out of _what_?” Dorian asked, feigning innocence.

Vivienne would not be baited. “We should be cautious about such a rumor getting around. We wouldn’t want Skyhold to be known for procuring support that way. Nor would we want to encourage people to expect such transactions here.”

He smiled thinly. “If that is your only objection, I think you may rest assured that I will not turn Skyhold into a brothel.” He turned and left, giving no time for an answer.

\--

A knock came on his door that evening.

“Yes?”

It creaked loudly as it opened, and Dorian looked up from his writing desk.

“Hey, big guy.”

“What is it, Iron Bull? Oh, come in, don’t just stand there, the wind makes the candles gutter.”

“Just wondering if you’re coming to the tavern tonight. Varric wants to get a count of who to expect for cards.”

“Not tonight, I’m afraid. I have a letter to write.”

Bull stepped further into the room, into the light of the fire. “An important letter?”

“You cannot have a copy for Par Vollen.”

“Heh.” Bull ambled closer. “Is it…to that guy?”

“My ‘lover,’ Lord Donovan? Yes, it is.” Dorian refilled his wine glass and took a long drink.

He ignored the Bull creeping closer, watching him. Always watching and studying and _seeing things._ He tried to focus on what he’d been writing, but his mind was suddenly blank. After a minute, the Bull commented, “Looking a little shitfaced there, Vint.”

Dorian snorted. _Elegantly._ “I object to the use of such a base description of my face. I am _intoxicated_ , and yet still utterly beautiful.”

“Mmm. You’re pretty, true. Can I read it?”

Dorian blinked. “What? My face?”

Bull grinned. “The letter.”

“Oh.” Dismissively, he handed the page over. And: “Sit, if you like.” His fluttering hand could have indicated anywhere in the room. The Bull sat on the edge of his bed.

Bull cleared his throat. “‘ _My dear, sweet, beloved Donny’_ —the fuck? ‘ _I think of you every day since you departed Skyhold, and dream of you every night. I long to hold you in my arms again’_ —are you shitting me?”

“Ours is a passionate love affair,” Dorian intoned flatly.

“This sappy shit just goes on and on…”

“Turn the page over.”

With a skeptical glance at him, Bull did. “Um, ‘… _and as the moonlight glistened on your…essence’_?” A snort. “‘… _pooled upon my flushed skin, I ached only to have you again. To have every inch of your powerful, turgid excitement deep within my—’_ ” He looked up at Dorian. “ _Chasm?_ Really?”

Dorian swallowed more wine. “What.”

“The fuck is ‘turgid’?”

“Swollen to full capacity.”

Bull looked down at the letter again, a bemused and slightly disturbed expression on his face. “So…his hard cock.”

“Precisely.”

“Why not just say that?”

Dorian sighed regally. “You poor, common beast. It’s a _love letter_. It is the very source and domain of all euphemisms. One writes to conjure the erotic through explicit hinting. It is not an anatomy lecture on sexual function.”

“This is how you tell a guy you love him?”

Caught, Dorian blinked. “Well, no. This is how you make his wife _think_ you’re telling him you love him.”

Bull hummed. “‘… _the heat of your mouth upon my bosom as you spilled your seed within my depths?’_ Does that mean you like it when a guy sucks your nipples and comes inside?”

“Give me _that!_ ” Suddenly impatient, Dorian snatched the letter back and returned it to his desk. “There’s no need for you to extrapolate what I may or may not like. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to this. I’ve used every euphemism for ‘cock’ that I know, and I need to think of at least three more, so run along and play cards, Iron Bull.”

Iron Bull, however, did not “run along.” He leaned closer and stole Dorian’s wine glass, the abominable brute, and took a sip. “Why not just say cock?”

“I just explained—”

“Cock’s not the anatomical term,” Bull quickly pointed out. “What is it in Common? Penis, right?”

Dorian gave him a disturbed look. “Don’t say that word.”

“Why not? That’s what it is.”

“It’s horrible.”

Horribly, Bull grinned. “What? You don’t want to write, ‘I like it when you put your hard penis inside my asshole’?”

Most dreadful of all, Dorian laughed—a loud, sudden bark of laughter. “ _Vishante kaffas_ , that is the worst thing you’ve ever said!”

“Just trying to help, Dorian.” He stole another drink of Dorian’s wine. “You didn’t want to use the word ‘cock’…what about ‘dick’? What about, ‘Dear Donny, I had a lot of fun when you fucked me with that fat dick. Come back to Skyhold and I’ll sit on it again’?”

Desperately trying not to giggle, Dorian shot back, “One: I did not _sit on it_ in the first place, so there is no sitting ‘again’; two: it wasn’t precisely ‘fat’ either.”

“But you did have fun?”

Laughter fading, Dorian paused. Then: “Well. I didn’t hate it. …Yes, I suppose it was fun enough. At the time.” He drank again—and his glass was empty, _damn the Bull_. He refilled it.

Bull leaned back against his headboard and kicked his feet up on the bed and said, “Okay, so tell me how it went.” Then he stole the wine glass again.

“Stop doing that!” Dorian grabbed it back, drank, and placed it on the other side of the table. Bull grinned and stole the bottle. Dorian glared.

“You’re a terrible host for your houseguest, Vint. Come on, out with it. I can’t help you if I don’t know what we’re writing about.”

There was no reason to actually answer. Certainly not _honestly_.

Well. Dorian was drunk.

“He bent me over the bed and held my leg up. Then we marked each other up a bit and he did it again, from the front.”

“Sucking on your nipples and shooting inside?” Bull grinned.

Dorian gave him a flat look. “Stop enjoying this. You’re appallingly crass.”

“Yup.” Bull shrugged, drank straight from the wine bottle, and sighed. “All right, how about this? ‘Dear Donny. My nipples are still sore. My hole is still aching. I don’t know if it’s trying to forget your unforgettable cock, or crying out for you to stretch my rim wide again. I oil up my fingers and think about your semen leaking out of me as I—’”

Dorian threw a sheaf of blank paper at him. “You are _disgusting!_ ” Bull laughed aloud.

“Why is it disgusting? Sounds pretty hot to me.”

“Because you are talking about _me!_ To my face! Talking about my body parts and what I did with Lord Don…whatever. _To. My. Face._ ”

“Well, if that’s your problem…” Bull sat up, stood up, and moved behind Dorian’s chair. “Take a letter.” He placed a blank sheet in front of Dorian. “For notes. Now, write this down.” Then he leaned in, _close_ , and murmured right in Dorian’s ear, “‘Dear Lord Donwhatever: I’m not going to talk about my body parts. You saw them all, you know what they look like. Let me talk about _you_. Let me tell you about that sweet, sweet cock of yours. Next time, I’m going to lick it. I’ll start when you’re soft—I’ll get on my knees and lick that curling dick. I’ll feel you twitch against my tongue. I’ll lick you again—one side, then the other. I’ll watch you swell a little for me, watch that cock lift. Show me the underside, just begging for my tongue. Then I’ll lick you there, too, and I’ll slide my tongue over your balls, just a little. But it won’t be an accident. I’ll wrap my hand around you next, lift that shaft and suck the head, and then I’ll get back to those balls. They’re so full. I want them in my mouth; I want to suck on them and think about drinking your semen. They’re all wet and shiny when I let them go—back to your cock. It’s hard, by now—thick and hot and ready to fuck me, just the way I like it. But you’re not going to fuck me yet—no, first I’m going to put my lips around the crown of your dick and slide down, slowly. Squeezing you as I suck you into my hot mouth, all the way down. I’ll open my throat and swallow around your cock, taste how much you want me…”

Dorian _moaned_.

Iron Bull stopped.

It took his brain a minute to catch up. Bull’s hot breath against his ear…and Dorian was hard. His legs were spread wantonly, his cock trapped in his trousers was aching, and he was breathing hard.

He swallowed. “Get out.”

“You sure?”

Dorian tried to sit up. “Get out, I’m going to…I need to.” He grunted. Shifting was painful. “Run along now.”

“I could take care of that for you.”

For thirty seconds, Dorian hovered on the edge of madness. Then: “Yes all right.”

Bull didn’t ask again. He turned Dorian’s chair around, with him still in it. Dorian had his trousers half open already. Bull pulled them down to his knees as Dorian pushed up to give him room. His cock jutted into the air—absolutely begging, the shameless thing.

Bull purred, grinning. “Nice.” Then he was down on his knees, crowding into Dorian’s lap, licking his burning shaft and swallowing him down.

Head thrown back, Dorian moaned aloud. The wet heat around his cock was bliss. His hips twisted feverishly. The damn chair had no arms to grip. His flailing hands landed on rough, thick horns, and Dorian gripped tight and gasped at the roll of a long tongue caressing the underside of his shaft.

He tried to control himself, tried not to plant his feet and thrust up. Needy energy ran directionless through his body, making him writhe, sparks at his fingertips.

Suddenly, there was a massive hand caressing up the front of his body, cradling the side of his face—two huge fingers brushing his lips with an unbelievable gentleness. Dorian opened his mouth eagerly and sucked the fingers in. His grasp moved to Iron Bull’s thick wrist and arm and hand; as Bull sucked, Dorian sucked, and held and caressed. He poured his energy into reciprocating pleasure in this halting way, with lips to knuckles and tongue between fingers, moaning when Bull moaned, sometimes copying his mouth, sometimes suggesting with his own.

It seemed they shared this language. With his tongue, Dorian suggested, and Bull obeyed with his. With his teeth, Dorian warned, whimpering in urgency, and with his answering moan, sucking hard, Bull insisted, accepted.

 _Drank_.

Not one to renege on a promise, even when only implied.

Bull pulled off slowly. Dorian was still shaking—shaking hands, shaking breaths. But he saw Bull smile, and he managed a little indignant sound as Bull picked him up and carried him to bed. Lay him down. Covered him up.

They stared at each other.

“I need a drink.”

He meant his wine—Dorian _very much_ meant his wine—but Bull smiled and found another cup and the water pitcher. Brought it, handed it to him.

Dorian met his eyes and took it. “Thank you.”

A nod. Smiling. That massive hand brushed his hair back. “You need some space?”

_No, of course not, why ever would I, don’t be ridiculous._

“…Yes, please.”

Another nod. “See you tomorrow, Dorian. Sleep well.” And he was gone.

 _Space_. Of all things.

\--

In the morning, Dorian found Bull with his Chargers in the courtyard. They weren’t training, they were assembling gear and apparently preparing to travel. Dorian wondered, in passing, where the Chargers were going. He must have missed that at the last meeting.

“Morning, big guy! Are you coming too?”

Dorian shut his eyes—not tightly. Squeezing them shut hurt his head. He covered them with a hand instead. His feud with the sunlight ran deep, today. “Coming? Where?”

“To the Storm Coast. Mission with the Ben-Hassrath. Remember?”

 _Oh, that’s right._ Dorian sighed. “And my presence is not needed in the field, least of all when we’re trying to please the Qun. Remember?”

“Hmm. So what’s up?”

Swallowing a sick feeling, Dorian eased his eyes open halfway. “Well, I simply wanted to say—I wanted to express my regrets for the way last night went, and apologize for failing to reciprocate, which is not at all my habit, I assure you—”

A snort. “If that’s all that’s bothering you…”

“No, I mean this,” Dorian insisted. He composed himself into his most genteel—or as close as he could get with a hangover. “I never intended for something like that to happen between us, but seeing that it did, and through my lack of restraint, and in such an unbalanced manner, I wanted to offer to return the favor.” He glanced around. “Not _now_ , clearly, but consider it a standing invitation whenever you wish.”

Bull studied him. “That something _you_ want?”

Dorian blinked. “Oh, please don’t misunderstand. I’m not attempting to monopolize you. I know you have your many intimate friendships, and I’ve no designs on joining those ranks permanently. Even so—once will not damage our working relationship, surely.”

Head tipping slightly to the side—one horn stabbing upward into the blue sky as a result—Bull answered in a softer voice, “It’s not an _exchange_ , Dorian.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Look.” Bull shifted away from the others a bit, Dorian following. “If that’s what you want to do with those other guys—fine. As long as no one is forcing you…if you want to play it like that, it’s your choice to make. But you’re not trading favors with me, okay? That’s just not my style.”

Momentarily stumped, Dorian eventually managed, “But I _am_ indebted to you. I simply cannot allow your—” A scout passed too near. Dorian lightly cleared his throat. “—to go unrewarded. That is not _my_ style, to put it your way.”

“You never heard of a gift?”

“Well, yes.” Dorian arched his eyebrow. “You always give a gift in return. A more lavish one, if the situation is pleasant. Otherwise, you make the return gift a calculated slight—which I am _not_ trying to do here.”

But Bull just sighed at him. “You Vints know how to do _anything_ with each other without putting a price on it?”

Blankly, Dorian started at him. “What sorts of things wouldn’t come at a price?”

Inexplicably, a grin. Then: “Don’t know. How about the sunshine? That’s always free.” Then, as if this conversation had made any sense at all, Bull turned to go. “See you when we get back, big guy.”

\--

Tapping his pen against the page in the library, Dorian stared at lines of cramped script—lines he hadn’t seen in ten minutes at least. Then he looked up, and out the window. The sun was, indeed, shining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 out either...Sunday or next week. Thursday at the latest.
> 
> Also, if you've never heard of Be The Serpent: A Podcast of Extremely Deep Literary Merit (https://betheserpent.podbean.com) you should definitely check it out. If you're here reading gay fantasy fanfic, it's right up your alley. Also they were nice to me, so I'm highly inclined to favor them. ^_^
> 
> Also also I got a Tweeter: @SalemSorted


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, y'all, one of my cats is kinda dying, soo...bad week to say the least :/ BUT on the positive side, my book's done! So if you'd like to read some porny gay fantasy romance take a peek @SalemSorted, I'll tweet when it's out. This month (May). <3

Dorian didn’t know the name of the soldier. He knew the man was a recruit, not a Templar; he knew it was the first time one of the rank and file of the Inquisition had gone out of their way to be nice to him. Dorian was reading in a quiet corner of the tavern—which was easier to find, with the Chargers out of Skyhold. He looked up when a tankard was placed in front of him, and it wasn’t a serving girl. It was a grinning man with a weathered face and powerful-looking arms.

“May I join you, milord?”

 _Are the people finally losing their fear of me?_ The idea was delightful. “Certainly.”

“Apologies for the drink, milord. I know it’s not like to be fine enough for a man of quality such as yourself.” This, said with a rakish wink that removed all his usual inclinations toward complaining. Dorian laughed.

“If it does its job, it’s quality enough for me. One should never be too selective with one’s pleasures; it leaves precious little to actually enjoy.”

“An admirable view,” the man answered, his tone dropping to a just-barely-intimate murmur. “Myself, I like finery. I like a drink that’s too pricy for my purse.” His mouth curled in a smile. “I like a beauty who’s too good for me. If a beauty like yourself reckons I’m good enough to suit—so much the better.”

Delighted, Dorian matched the tone and smiled. “Well, I suppose that leaves me with one question.” He blinked slowly. “Do you do your _job?_ ”

The man’s voice became a pleasing rumble. “I’m a hard worker, milord. I like to impress.”

 _Easily done,_ Dorian thought, eyeing his brawny arms and wondering if the rest of him matched. This was, in all ways, perfectly wonderful. The frankness of the common man, glossed with the good fortune of _finally_ finding someone in the South who had decided not to hate him. What more could he ask?

_…Aside from length and girth, generously used? Not much._

Even so, Dorian took his time and finished his drink. Flirted, found out the man’s name was Rolland, that he was a stonemason turned soldier, and that he had no lover at present. He declared himself a “lonely man.” Dorian didn’t even need to ask by this point, but he did anyway—brushing his fingertips along the man’s arm.

“Well then, would you like company tonight?”

 _Yes,_ he would, of course he would, he’d be honored. Dorian smiled and led Rolland back to his room.

Rolland’s kisses were rough almost to bruising. His face was a little bristly, and the burn of it against Dorian’s skin, against his throat— _Maker, yes!_

Rolland opened his trousers and grinned at him. “Will this be sufficient for your pleasure, milord?”

In answer, Dorian went to his knees. He would need his masterfully crafted preparation spell tonight. Rolland was well-endowed, and neither of them seemed to have much patience for preparation.

A callused hand on the back of his neck guided him. Dorian submitted and let the man fuck his throat. A deep groan rewarded him. “Ah, milord…you are perfect like this. Such a beautiful mouth…”

Dorian was only mostly naked when he landed on his back on the edge of the bed, his lover crowding between his legs, heavy cock pressing under his balls. He cried out as Rolland thrust into him, fingers tearing at his bedsheets. Hard, chiseled muscle above him, thick cock grinding inside him, arms pushing under his thighs, planting on the bed, almost bending him in half—leaving him wide open and helpless. And then Rolland fucked him.

It alternated between a brutal hammering and occasional slow, rocking thrusts as Rolland held back from finishing. Dorian could hardly bear it—he begged for his end, and Rolland laughed. “Go on and spill, if it pleases you, milord. But I will not relent. You must take my cock until dawn.”

“ _Kaffas_ , yes…I will, yes…” Dorian sighed.

It did not, in fact, last that long—but it lasted longer than Dorian’s endurance, twice. It lasted longer than his sanity, he was sure. And when it did finally end, with a shout and a flood of hot seed inside him, Dorian reached for his lover, barely able to lift his arms. Certainly he would not be able to _stand_.

Rolland had never really undressed. He put his clothing back in place, ignoring Dorian’s touch. His fingers probed Dorian’s abused hole, and he chuckled. “Look at that. You’re filled with my come.” Dorian could feel it leaking out around the man’s fingers. He whimpered and reached for Rolland again. “So beautiful, milord. This, most of all.” Then, he removed his fingers and wiped his hand off on the bed. “I thank you, milord. I’ll not soon forget this night.”

Sensing the familiar approach of a farewell, Dorian struggled to sit up. He managed half-reclining on his wobbling arms. “Oh. Of course, neither will I.” He tried a teasing smile, with whatever energy he had left. “I wish more of my nights were like this one.”

Rolland laughed, wrapped an arm under his shoulder blades, and kissed him deep. “I am glad.” His deep voice was gravel. “I had heard you were only for the nobility. I am happy to disprove that rumor.” Before Dorian could do more than blink, he was halfway to the door. “I’ll bring a few friends, next time, milord! Then we will use you until the dawn indeed!”

For minutes, Dorian did not move. He stared at the closed door, and the trembling in his limbs began to spread.

The fire was dying. Dorian suddenly re-lit it with a fireball.

Then he rolled over, now shaking uncontrollably from head to toe. He grabbed anything within reach to roughly wipe himself clean, and then he pulled his blankets around himself until he was tightly cocooned. Like that, he ground his teeth and breathed deep and slow, trying to force the shaking to stop. It wouldn’t.

Enraged and humiliated, he stayed like that until he had no energy left, and consciousness abandoned him.

\--

It was all over Skyhold as soon as the Inquisitor got back—the alliance with the Qun had fallen through. But the whole picture only came clear at the next War Room meeting. The Qun had dared to require that the Chargers be sacrificed. And the Inquisitor liked the Chargers—and didn’t give a damn about the Qun.

So there was no more Ben-Hassrath spy with them, now. Just the newly exiled Tal-Vashoth. Dorian wondered what that would mean. He’d heard of Vashoth in the South; they were often mercenaries. Iron Bull was already a mercenary, so perhaps it wouldn’t be much of a change for him. He still had the Chargers, and Cadash apparently planned to prove this decision had been a good one by working the company double-time. Oh and Bull was attacked by assassins, no big deal, now about that Winter Palace shit…

Dorian couldn’t remember a meeting more filled with surprises.

To top them all off, the Inquisitor called him back as the meeting was breaking up. “I want you on the team for Halamshiral.”

Surprised, he looked down at Cadash. “Truly?”

“That a problem for you?”

“No, not at all. I’m merely…surprised.”

Cadash just shrugged. “See Josephine about your uniform.” And that, apparently, was all.

\--

The Iron Bull was not in the tavern. Dorian noted this fact and proceeded to Cabot, as planned. Instead of wine, however, he asked if there were a potable bottle of brandy. Then he headed back to his own room.

He assumed Bull was above the tavern, entertaining someone—or being entertained. Dorian was surprised to see a bulky silhouette on an untraveled part of the battlements. The light of the moons silvered the points of his horns. Curious, Dorian changed his route.

He stood like a marble statue in the moonlight, unmoving even as Dorian approached. But then again, the Iron Bull probably knew the footfalls of everyone he’d ever met, the obnoxious spy.

_Well. Former spy._

__With that in mind, Dorian took up a position beside him. “Good evening.”

“Hey.”

They were facing outward, and the view was breathtaking. Snowy mountains sparkling in the moonlight, windswept heights and a sky simply cluttered with stars. Dorian regarded the scene for a long moment. The South had its beauties; he couldn’t deny it. He wished he were a painter for a moment, so that he could capture this beauty and keep it. Yet he knew, at the same time, that his memory was better than a painting. Yes, he would remember this sparkling and spectacular view; but Dorian also knew that there were streets in Qarinus and gardens and libraries and rooms in grand houses and in common houses that would always give his heart more peace than any majestic mountainscape. There was a nook in a library with a little round window and a worn leather chair and a little glass cup with some water and a few flowers from the garden—and that was not beautiful, but it was home.

Dorian could go back. That nook still existed for him. And it was that realization that made him understand what had changed for Bull. Whatever “nooks” he carried in his memory—he could not go back home.

Without speaking, Dorian set the bottle on the stone in front of Bull.

There was a pause. Then, a massive hand wrapped around the glass neck. With a wry smile: “I don’t have anything nice to give you in return.”

“It’s free,” Dorian answered, looking back out at the view. “Like these mountains, cold as they are. Or the moonlight, if you like. Just enjoy it.”

“Heh.” Bull uncorked the bottle and took a swig. Paused, then half-turned toward Dorian, holding the bottle out. “You want some of my brandy?”

Dorian snorted and took it.

\--

There was no ambiguity about Dorian’s role at the Winter Palace. “Your job is to look pretty and back me up if I need you. Other than that, eat, dance, do whatever you want, just stay out of the way and be there if I call for you.”

Josephine had more specific instructions—a list of people with whom Dorian was not to converse under any circumstances. There were only about five people on it, but they were apparently so antipathetic toward Tevinter that even a “hello” would result in a duel, and the Inquisition should not be dueling at the ball. Not with _them_ , anyway.

Vivienne wanted to know where to find Dorian, should she need him for anything, and she created a set of signals he was to obey in order to be useful to her maneuvers in The Game.

Leliana posted him as her sentinel in the guest wing gardens and instructed him only to “Listen.”

So Dorian stood in the garden and listened, and noticed that Iron Bull was just inside. Dorian could watch him… _grazing_ might be an appropriate if slightly offensive word. Probably also watching everyone.

For his part, Dorian attracted a few daring and scandal-happy ladies. He gave them charm but nothing more, and they didn’t linger. A certain gentleman, on the other hand, _did._

Dorian strolled around the small garden, listening to him talk. They ended up behind a lattice in the shadows, and he didn’t remember the man’s name. He knew the man was effectively the head of his noble family, as his father was ancient and suffered with a heart condition that could take him to the Maker’s side any day. He knew the family was rich, too—based not upon what the duke, or whatever he was, _claimed_ about his fortunes. Based, instead, upon the much more reliable information provided by the back of his neck.

His hairline was professionally maintained, and his skin was soft in a way that spoke of expensive treatment—and most men did not attend closely to the backs of their necks, which they could not see.

Fingers trailed where they shouldn’t, hidden in the shadows. “What would you do,” the man breathed in his ear, “to convince a man to support your Inquisition’s cause?”

Dorian was no fool. He knew what he’d done already; he was not shocked by new offers. He knew how his comrades looked upon this. He knew how _he_ felt about it—neither as bad as he ought nor as good as he’d wish.

And his best accomplishment for the Inquisition so far had been hours of painstaking research to produce something vaguely positive—if one did not count the allies he’d secured, intentionally or unintentionally.

With only a beat of hesitation, Dorian purred back, “What would you like me to do?”

A low laugh. “I’m certain you can guess,” the man answered.

There was a storeroom behind them—rather tasteless, having one right here, and accessible. Then again, it was perhaps strategic. The baron, or whatever he was, pushed Dorian into the darker shadows and pressed his groin against Dorian’s thigh. “You have the most beautiful mouth, Lord Pavus,” he whispered.

Dorian sank to his knees. “It feels even nicer than it looks,” he said.

The man’s cock was an indistinct shadow in the dark, and Dorian went mostly by feel—but this was nothing new. This was practically routine in Tevinter. He fondled and licked and sucked and found he could accommodate the duke, or whatever he was, without difficulty. That was good for all concerned.

He had some trouble keeping the Orlesian’s hands off his hair. The music filtered to them from a distance, over the sloppy wet sounds they made and Dorian’s muffled voice and the Orlesian’s strained gasps. Some nobles were chatting about politics nearby as the Orlesian grunted and spilled.

Dorian had a handkerchief ready. He swiped at his mouth subtly as he stood. The man didn’t see. He was satisfied—of course he was. The ambassador would be hearing from his family. Dorian supposed when Josephine received an unexplained gift, if she mentioned to him who it was from Dorian might learn the man’s name. Not that he would remember it.

The Inquisitor came for him not too long after, and they went sneaking into parts of the palace where they weren’t supposed to be. Intrigues and fighting—it was the first time Dorian had interrupted a fancy party for an _adventure_ , which was novel and fun and helped cleanse the past half hour from his memory.

Alas, they had to return.

To Dorian’s surprise, a servant brought him a note. It wasn’t one of Vivienne’s signals.

_“Inside, down the hall, to the right, left onto the balcony.”_

Curious, he went.

The balcony was empty, for the moment. Two arguing men passed him, going in as he went out. Another followed him out, close on his heels.

The man did not face him. He stood at a different railing and spoke of a situation the Inquisition was involved in, near his lands. It was somewhat complicated. The upshot was—finances and soldiers. Turn the dangerous smuggling hideout into an Inquisition base. The price would be paid after the party. The man was a comte—Dorian remembered.

He also agreed, and returned to his post. He passed Iron Bull, who smiled at him. Dorian smiled back and nodded, and thought about ignoring the Orlesians for a while and, instead, perhaps discussing how much fabric had gone into that enormous coat. But he resisted and simply passed Bull with a nod. People were watching.

Another stint of fighting, and more scandals discovered about the palace. It was entertaining, and Florianne distracted Dorian nicely. All the scheming—it was fun, though no one found an occasion to throw wine in the Duchess’s face. Dorian always loved that one, such a classic.

With Celene saved, it was back to the party. Almost at once, a very young man approached Dorian in the ballroom. “Lord Pavus of Tevinter, I understand?”

“And you are?”

“François de Pattiére.” Dorian blinked, his mouth sealed shut. The young man smiled. “My father, the Baron de Pattiére, would likely challenge you to a duel on sight if he met you—but I, monsieur, am not so volatile.”

“Well, thank the Maker for that,” Dorian smiled charmingly.

“Mmm, yes. I would much rather make a _friend_ than an enemy.”

Dorian agreed with the sentiment, already sensing a familiar tone. They talked. The young man was coy about his purpose, but eventually confessed that a second cousin of his had a very dirty secret that he would do anything to keep from being revealed to a certain other family. The evidence was a letter. François offered it. At a price.

“How old are you?” Dorian demanded. The mask didn’t hide the youthfulness of that face.

“I am twenty,” François answered, with a note of pride.

 _Ugh_ , Dorian thought. _Barely more than a pup._

He had doubts that the boy actually possessed valuable blackmail, after that. He suspected the youth had overestimated himself—in more ways than one. But he excused himself and discussed the matter with Leliana, to be certain. She quietly affirmed: “If he has a letter that says _that_ , we need only mention its existence to procure considerable support.”

So, with a sigh, Dorian returned to François.

For the second time that night, he went on his knees in a dark room and sucked a man into his throat. François was larger and lustier than the last, and did not want to have his end this way. He demanded Dorian turn around. Braced against the wall, he felt François’ wet shaft slide between his cheeks as the boy thrust and thrust. Then—squeezed between his thighs. The irregular prodding of his cock beneath Dorian’s balls eventually made his own shaft stir, but fortunately François reached the end of his stamina, there, and shot his spend across Dorian’s ass. They replaced their clothing, Dorian took the letter, and they parted.

He delivered the letter to Leliana, who said nothing, only nodded. The night grew late, and Dorian retired—not, sadly, to his own room. Not yet.

The comte awaited.

This time, Dorian was naked. He stripped himself down for the comte, who watched, swirling his wine. Then the man directed him to get on his bed, on his knees. The comte had a smooth, large toy—a stone carved in the shape of a cock, kept in a basin of warm oil. He sat behind Dorian, barely a foot away, and commanded him to fuck himself with the toy.

The comte murmured soft praise about how well he took the toy, how wide he stretched, how beautiful his hole was, once the stone cock had opened him up. He had other implements as well—little things he used to stroke within Dorian, to find his best spot and _torture_ it. And he would not let Dorian come.

It was nearly morning when the comte pushed his way between Dorian’s spread legs and drove his cock into him. He apparently liked a soft and smooth orifice. Dorian was so wrung out and nearly numb from the abuse, he felt the man’s dick far less than he should have. Still, after so much denial, his orgasm was easy to reach. The comte made him ejaculate all over himself; then he flooded Dorian with his own come.

He did not invite Dorian to stay. Dorian had to stand on shaking legs, dress himself, and drag his steps back to his own room. He collapsed on a soft, opulent mattress without undressing. The Inquisition’s uniform would be fouled beyond recovery. _Oh well._

\--

There was a knocking. Dorian did _not_ heed it.

He likewise tried to ignore the deep voice that followed.

He could _not_ ignore the hands lifting and moving him.

“Mmmh?” He opened one eye a crack and got nothing but the edge of a pillow, so he shut it again, disinterested.

“You waking up, big guy?”

“No indeed.”

He could _hear_ the mountain shrug. “All right.”

Then there were other sounds, but Dorian drifted away from them. He was brought back a little by hands prodding and tugging at him. Then he was picked up.

“What in the Maker’s…?”

He woke quite suddenly when Iron Bull set him down in a warm bathtub. Dorian groaned in delight, and also in annoyance. The Bull was there, in his room, and Dorian…

“Why am I naked?”

Bull was pulling what looked like soap out of a basket. “Because it’s a big improvement.”

“Hah.” The giant came over and offered him the soap and a cloth, and when Dorian took them he went away again and came back with a glass of water.

“Here. You hung over?”

Dorian took the glass. “No. I did not actually drink much. Pity, the wine was quite decent. But I needed to be sober for our adventures, and after that I was…busy.”

“I could tell.” Said neutrally. Dorian could almost imagine they were talking about the weather—not the fact that Bull was speaking of having removed all Dorian’s soiled clothes just now. “Got food. You want some?”

Dorian blinked. “Yes all right.”

The Bull laid out a light breakfast—fruit and bread and, naturally, mild soft cheese. _Orlesians._ They were all married to cheese.

Whatever Dorian had been expecting, it wasn’t for Bull to simply share breakfast with him, asking no questions and making no comments. Finally, Dorian asked, “Well, what did you do to keep busy last night, when we weren’t fighting colorful villains? Did you ever get away from the food?”

A chuckle. “Only a little. I mostly just stood around with a dumb expression, chewing stuff. Heard about a dozen people comment how much it made me look like a cow. But I got some good intel off them, and about twenty others. Too bad they didn’t ask me if I speak Orlesian.”

“Mmm. You’re quite the spy.”

“Ben-Hassrath, remember?”

 _Not anymore_. But Dorian refrained from pointing that out. “When did you learn Orlesian?”

“After I came South,” Bull answered. “Didn’t need it much on Seheron. I started studying it when I joined my first merc company. The guys thought I was reading pornography.”

Dorian laughed aloud. “What? Did you _do_ anything to yourself while you were studying seventy-five different words for cheese?”

Bull grinned. “Nah. I put covers on the books, though.”

“Oh, that improves matters.” Dorian tipped his head back into the water and began to wash his hair. “That gives them a reason to be suspicious, at least—a better one than some kind of irrepressible delight in diacritics.”

Bull popped a grape into his mouth. “Those things _are_ pretty cute.”

“They’re a needless complication,” Dorian declared. “Tevene gets along quite well without them.”

“Oh, Tevene doesn’t have _any_ needless complications,” Bull agreed—overly serious. Dorian narrowed his eyes, anticipating sarcasm. He was right, too. “All those inflections—totally need those.”

“What’s wrong with inflections?” Dorian paused in rinsing out his hair, moderately appalled.

“Are you serious?” Bull blinked at him. “Every damn word has about a hundred damn forms, and they can go in any damn order. I had so much memorizing to do I had to make up songs to get it all drilled into my head.”

A slight, incredulous smile spread over Dorian’s face. “You sang Tevene to learn the inflections?”

“Oh yeah. Put something to music and you never forget it.”

“Well, sing something then.” Dorian wondered if he’d have to cajole. But Bull just shrugged and opened his mouth and sang all the inflected forms of the word for “rope” in a deep, rich voice that somehow managed to have a whimsical lilt to the tune. Dorian smiled when he was done. “Well, you’re no musical genius, but you remembered a word in Tevene. Well done.”

His tone belied the criticism—Dorian was genuinely delighted, though the Maker only knew why. It should not be charming to listen to a man sing “rope” over and over.

“Thanks.” Bull grinned. “I could sing you the body song, but it’s a lot longer. Got more words in it.”

Dorian arched a skeptical eyebrow, slicking his hair back and out of his eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ask.”

“Eh,” Bull cocked his head to the side a bit, “just being prepared.”

“I suppose your quest to bed everyone you meet would be hampered if you didn’t share a language and couldn’t express your appreciation for their hindquarters in terms they would understand.” In answer, Bull just looked at him, whistled sharply, and winked with his one eye. Dorian snorted. “There are some who would take exception to that,” he observed, finally rising from the cooling water.

Bull also stood and grabbed a dressing gown and handed it to him. “I usually use words. But there are other ways to communicate; that’s all I’m saying.”

Dorian wrapped the dressing gown around himself and tied it. His personal effects were set out on the gilded Orlesian vanity, and he moved that way, pointedly ignoring his soiled uniform. It was neatly folded and sitting on a chair. He carefully sat down in front of the mirror and began to dry and style his hair. “Bull…”

“Hmm?” The Bull had returned to the breakfast tray.

“The people you sleep with. Do they ever…” Dorian hummed. “Well. Treat you like some sort of…fetish object?”

A pause—it only lasted a beat, and it wasn’t awkward, but surely it meant the former spy was considering his reply. It was casual and easy when it came: “Sure. Most of them, probably. It’s a size thing.”

Dorian pointedly put any thought about Bull’s “size” out of his mind. “Does it ever bother you?”

He could see Bull in the mirror, watching him. “Nah. As long as it works for them, I’m good.”

“Mmm.” Dorian wondered if such a feeling could be entirely true—if there could be such a thing in the world as a man who really only cared about his partner’s happiness. If Bull really took all his pleasure from satisfying others.

“I’m guessing you feel a little different about it.”

He glanced at Bull in the mirror again, and renewed his attention to his hair. “I’m not as generous a man as you, at heart.”

“Or you’re just looking for something different,” Bull countered neutrally. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Perhaps,” Dorian answered thoughtfully. He had never really considered himself to be on any kind of a search—not in that sense, at least. To search for a place where his skills would be needed and valued—yes. To search for a place where he was free from secrecy—also yes. But perhaps that implied more. The freedom to search for someone in particular whom he would not need to hide. He hadn’t thought much about that before. He’d taken affection where he could find it. He’d made whatever he could out of it, which was usually very little. But what else could he do?

“I’m guessing there were some Orlesians last night who had a magister fetish?”

Dorian stared a moment at his perfectly styled hair. “I suppose that is…a perfect summary.” He flicked through his cosmetics for kohl. “In fact, there were three.”

“Long night.”

Breezily, he began to make himself up. “Yes, I haven’t done that in a very long time.” He thought a moment. “Actually, I think I only did it once before.” And he had been in Tevinter, and for some reason he remembered feeling very satisfied and pleased the morning after. Today, he felt merely tired. “Regardless,” he waved dismissively, “it was a fruitful night for the Inquisition.”

The lack of an immediate response made Dorian check again in the mirror; but Bull wasn’t looking at him. He was contemplating a peach, dwarfed in his giant hand. He didn’t look happy; nor did he look especially unhappy. Dorian almost held his breath, wondering what Bull might say.

But in the end—nothing. The Bull rose, leaving the peach and the rest, and smiled at him. In passing, a heavy hand rested on his shoulder. “Well, you’re looking better. I’ll get out of the way. See you on the road.”

With that, he left. Dorian realized, belatedly, that Bull had never said why he’d come. Surely he must have needed Dorian for something, to come find him in the morning. _Well_ , he thought, _perhaps it can wait until the journey back._

\--

Whatever lofty parties Dorian might be obliged to attend, his evenings spent in Skyhold’s tavern were much more enjoyable. Varric had a way of gathering just about everyone for cards; the Chargers had a way of befriending anyone who paid for alcohol or sang off-key; and Dorian spent many evenings there, enjoying the acceptance of some, if not all of the Inquisition’s people.

Delrin Barris joined them occasionally, Sera flitted in and out of the group making trouble—or laying low, having just made trouble elsewhere. Iron Bull presided over his motley crew, and Dorian, despite his homeland, was a patron of general drunkenness—therefore, a friend.

Many of the laypeople of the Inquisition shared the tavern with them, but avoided Dorian’s company. The fresh-faced young Ser Morris was one who gradually ceased to avoid him—though he remained awkward, stumbling over his words at times. It was endearing, in many ways. And the way he sometimes stared at Dorian when he thought it wouldn’t be seen was also rather…cute.

But he wasn’t displaying his interest in a clear way. Dorian flirted on several different occasions and the man completely failed to grasp his point. One night, after suggestively praising Ser Morris’ strong-looking hands and getting nothing but a clueless, “Oh? I suppose mother was always asking me to open her preserves. Perhaps that helped?” for a response, Dorian excused himself and went to the bar to get another drink. Bull was there, buying a round.

“Hey big guy, how’s—”

“Is that man a virgin?” he interrupted. Bull blinked.

“Sorry?”

“Ser Morris,” Dorian explained impatiently. “Does he have any idea what sex is?”

Bull chuckled. “He’s got an idea, sure. He just hasn’t put that idea together with _you_.”

“Why not?” Dorian frowned.

“Don’t know.” Bull elbowed his arm. “Maybe spell it out for him.” A wink.

“Very well,” Dorian sighed, taking his drink. “After all, I do speak Common.”

\--

Dorian did not usually wander about on the battlements at night. He only stepped out of his room for a bit of air, because it wasn’t as bitterly cold as usual. He still wrapped up; it was always windy. The clouds kept scurrying across the moons, making the night light and dark by turns. He watched the guards patrol a bit, and he noticed Iron Bull across the way. The man entered a tower that Dorian knew wasn’t used for much.

Well. He didn’t feel much like sleeping. Might as well talk a bit.

He climbed all the way up to the top of the tower before he found Bull—lying on his back, looking up.

“This is unusual,” Dorian commented, pulling himself up from the ladder. “Are you quite well?”

Bull hummed. Dorian sat beside him. “Just realized it’s been two months since I went Tal-Vashoth.”

“Ah.” The time had flown, perhaps, but Dorian wasn’t sure why it should matter. “Happy anniversary?”

Bull smiled in his half-crooked way. “I had men on Seheron go Tal-Vashoth. Almost every one of them lasted just about two months. It was pretty much a rule. They’d disappear, two months go by, and then we’d get them. Usually because they did something rotten and stupid and gave themselves away, but by the time you caught ’em…they were past knowing what was smart or dumb.”

“By which you mean to say, they were insane.”

“Yeah.” Bull’s gaze remained on the sky. A cloud darkened the night around them for a minute. “Seemed like they could still control themselves for a bit. Keep out of sight, anyway. Maybe make plans. But eventually, they’d snap. Attack someone defenseless. Right about now.”

Dorian frowned and leaned on one arm, turning toward Bull. “Pardon my presumption, but you seem to be maintaining your sanity.”

A little grunt. “Yeah. I guess. Sort of wondering if that’s going to change soon. Or, you know. Maybe wondering if I won’t go mad at all.” He shut his lone eye. “Maybe not too sure what that says about being Tal-Vashoth, if I can leave the Qun and still be okay.”

A slow breath. Dorian looked up at the reappearing moon. “That’s quite a dilemma.”

“Yeah.”

“Do the stars hold many solutions?”

“Nah. Just needed to clear my head. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Hmmm.” Dorian scooted to the side and leaned back against the low stone wall. They were both silent for a moment. Then: “Would sex help?”

Bull snorted. “Probably not.”

“Ah. Too bad.”

After a moment, Bull’s gaze slid over to him. His head did not turn—his horns wouldn’t have allowed it. “Thought you were with Ser Morris tonight?”

“I was,” Dorian confirmed. “You were quite right, he had never thought of having sex with a man. But once I suggested the idea, he was most agreeable.” He smiled blandly. “Therefore, you see, if you were interested, I could probably accommodate you with less trouble than one might usually expect. I’ve already been fucked tonight; I’m still rather loose from it.” He flashed his teeth in a blank grin. “Changed your mind?”

Ignoring the question, Bull watched him. “Didn’t have fun with Morris?”

“Oh, on the contrary. I had a lovely time. Despite his inexperience, he was enthusiastic, eager—one might even say passionate. A very nice man.”

“So what went wrong?”

Dorian sighed. “Your spy insight is rather tasteless, at times.” Bull hummed in what might have been agreement, but said nothing. Dorian shrugged. “He got extremely sentimental after the fact. He declared that he’d fallen in love with me—he even went so far as to propose marriage on the spot.”

A blink. “Shit.”

“Indeed.”

“You didn’t want that?”

Faintly bitterly: “I’ve been accosted with such overwrought passions before. I don’t object to adoration, but post-coital love does tend to burn out quickly. And Ser Morris was simply caught up in the moment. He’s certainly not in love with me.”

“Is that bad?”

“It’s of no consequence, ultimately. Only, it wasn’t much fun to have to turn him down while he was still thoroughly convinced we were destined for each other. I’m afraid I made him cry, though I tried not to. It was a bit of a ghastly scene. Spoiled the whole evening, really.”

“Hmmm. Well, don’t worry, big guy…” Bull grunted as he slowly tried to push himself up to sitting. “He’ll…nngh…get over it.”

Dorian reached forward quickly and grabbed Bull’s arm, helping to stabilize him as he sat up and shifted to the side, leaning back against Dorian’s wall. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah—thanks. Just getting a stiff back from lying on stone.” He sighed as he settled again. “Man, I miss being young.”

Quietly bemused, Dorian commented, “You’re not old, Bull.”

“Older than you, though.”

Dorian snorted. Elegantly. “No trouble there, then. I’m still young and beautiful.”

“Heh.” Bull smiled, leaned back, and looked back up at the sky. “You’re sweet.”

Without quite knowing why, Dorian leaned closer. Bull’s massive arm was right there, and he wrapped his own arm under and around it. Bull said nothing about it. Dorian said, “My hands are cold.” Bull hummed and still didn’t comment. Dorian tentatively laid his head on Bull’s massive shoulder. It wasn’t as rock-hard as it looked. Actually, when relaxed, the muscle was a large and lovely cushion. Dorian sighed. “Are you sure you don’t want to have sex?”

Bull’s hand patted his knee—practically covering over half his thigh. “We can have sex some time, if you want to, Dorian. Just not right now.”

“Why not?”

A snort. “It’s almost four in the morning.”

“What, you can’t get hard at four in the morning?”

A deep, resonating chuckle. Dorian felt it through Bull’s shoulder and arm. “Pretty sure that’s not a problem.” No other explanation or qualification.

_Well. Never mind._

“I’m relieved for you,” Dorian declared, and then they watched the clouds and the stars and the sky.

\--

Dorian woke in his own bed, realized how he’d come to be there, and felt…oddly happy, for having been turned down.

 _How novel_.

Then Cadash called upon him in the library. _Even more novel_.

“I’m going to Redcliff and you’re coming. Okay?”

Dorian blinked. This was essentially his first invitation to a field mission, not counting Adamant and Halamshiral. “Of course, if you like.”

“We leave first thing.”

That didn’t say much about what Cadash _liked_ , but it was clear enough. Dorian agreed.

It wasn’t a particularly merry party—although compared to his flight from Redcliff to Haven, it was delightful. Cadash didn’t open up at all about their task, or why Dorian was needed. But then they entered the tavern, and it was empty, and Halward Pavus was there, and Dorian was no longer curious.

“Is this why you brought me here?”

Playing with a dagger: “What? That’s your father? So…a magister?”

“I did not inform the Inquisitor of my coming personally, Dorian.” Halward Pavus bowed to Cadash. “I apologize, Inquisitor. I did not intend to involve you.”

“Of course not,” Dorian interrupted. “You? Come to Skyhold? Be seen with the Southern Chantry’s sacred leader? What would people think?”

Cadash grunted. “I should go.”

“No! You started this.” He smiled acidly. “Stay, Inquisitor, and hear the truth about your pet magister.”

“Dorian, there’s no need to—”

“I prefer the company of men. My father disapproves.”

Cadash arched an eyebrow at him. “Am I supposed to be surprised?”

“Not yet,” he replied. “But I’m not quite done.”

“This display is uncalled for!”

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” Dorian murmured, dangerously soft. “And what would be appropriate instead, father? A nice sacrifice and demon summoning?” He turned back to Cadash. “That was his idea, you see. To fix his son’s errant proclivities. A little blood magic ritual to cleanse my mind of all these shameful habits.”

There was a long beat of silence. Then: “Well, I’ve heard enough. Stay and chat if you like; I’m out.”

“I quite agree.”

Dorian turned to go, resolute—until. “I only wanted to talk to you, son. I only wanted to see your face again, hear your voice. To know you are safe…and to ask you to forgive me for betraying your trust.”

Dorian stopped.

_Damn him. Damn him._

The door shut behind Cadash, but Dorian stayed.

\--

The world outside the tavern was too bright. Too noisy.

“You could have told me.” Dorian tried to keep his voice pleasant. This was, after all, his sacred leader he was talking to. “Bringing me out here without a word, even if you didn’t know it would be him—why didn’t you let me decide?”

A shrug. “Does it matter? It’s done now. Let’s go.”

Blackwall and Iron Bull were nearby, looking on and listening. Dorian took a deep breath and smiled flatly. “I’ll pretend you weren’t secretly hoping I would patch things up and go home.”

“Can if you want,” Cadash grunted. “But all things being equal, you can stay if you want, too. You’ve been useful lately.”

“I’m flattered.” Whatever else Dorian might have added to that—he couldn’t. His throat closed on the words, his voice too tight with anger to speak.

\--

As far as the Inquisitor was concerned, that was that. It was not discussed on the way back to Skyhold. Iron Bull rode beside him, but they spoke only a little, of mundane things. Dorian needed strong drink before he faced this one.

Instead, he got summoned right away for another War Room meeting. He stood there not listening, thinking of alcohol, until Cadash interrupted his thoughts.

“You want to handle this one for us, Dorian?”

He blinked. The Inquisitor was extending a letter toward him. With a bland, pleasant expression and a sinking feeling in his gut, Dorian took the letter.

It was a marquis. The matter of his support for the Inquisition—simply out of the question. He had no resources to spare—except in his personal recreation budget, in which he only had… _Maker._ _What does he do for fun?_ Whatever his hobbies, the marquis could certainly afford them. He was coming to visit Skyhold—for recreation, of course. He had no funds available for anything else.

“The marquis is almost entirely lying, of course,” Josephine explained. “The sum he names is the amount in question he is considering giving us. He has not mentioned you specifically, but…”

“It is known how he likes to be entertained,” Leliana quietly finished.

Cadash, unflinching: “Well?”

Remarkably, Dorian found he could still smile. “Leave it to me.”

\--

The marquis only came to the height of Dorian’s shoulders. He wasn’t interesting—but then again, he probably wasn’t trying to be. Dorian didn’t care for him. He didn’t care for the marquis’ voice, nor his lavish use of his mouth all over Dorian’s body. It didn’t stir any response in him. Fortunately, Dorian had magic, and a touch of lightning on his fingers as he pressed behind his balls got him up even if the marquis didn’t.

To the man’s credit, he was not as selfish as Dorian had expected. There was, after all, no real effort made to pretend this was anything other than a transaction. But the marquis apparently liked to revel a bit in his whores. He liked to kiss. He liked to suck Dorian off, which was a bit of a surprise. And everywhere he kissed and licked and sucked, he murmured how beautiful it was. How beautiful Dorian’s nipples were, how beautiful his ear lobes, how beautiful his throat, how beautiful his belly button, how beautiful his hips, how beautiful his clavicles, how beautiful his back, his ass, his cock, his legs, his hands, his abs, his balls, his hole—and, of course, his beautiful face.

 _Happy as a pig in shit_ sprang to mind. _Well, never mind_. _Let him have his fun. He’s paid enough for it._

Copiously drenched in oil, Dorian knelt on the bed and took the marquis’ cock to the hilt. He moaned, to be obliging, and pulled a pillow to his chest and settled himself to wait, now. The marquis began to fuck slowly into him, rather than thrusting away right from the start. _What a damnably enjoyable man_ , Dorian thought, and, _What a bother that I am not enjoying him._

Well, Cadash would be pleased. Dorian still couldn’t believe how much the Inquisition was getting paid for this. _Ha_ , he thought, with bitter triumph. _Look how much I’m worth_.

Then he frowned, and thought that through again.

It wasn’t the price on himself—he didn’t accept that. His value was not rated by what men paid to have sex with him. But the thought in his head had been directed at someone, and it wasn’t Cadash.

It was his father.

The marquis grunted and moaned, grinding his cock inside Dorian—who also moaned, compliantly, but he was thinking: _Am I doing this because of my father?_

But how so, if so? To drag the Pavus name lower? To prove his value within the Inquisition, by any means necessary? Simply, perhaps, to do what his father would not like? To return pain for pain?

All this time, Dorian had believed he was doing this for himself. Because he wanted to. And he did. He liked sex, and men, and he wanted to have sex with men. He’d never meant to play the whore, but it had never bothered him enough to refuse, either. Why?

Well, it was…the way it was. It had always been a bit like this, back in Tevinter. Perhaps not as blatant as now, but every man he’d ever slept with had come at a price in some way. But that was only natural. Everything you wanted had to be earned. Nothing was free.

_“How about the sunshine? That’s always free.”_

The marquis thrust harder, his hips slapping Dorian’s ass, oil dripping down his inner thighs. The marquis drove his cock against Dorian’s best spot, making him jerk and gasp. The man moaned with pleasure. Dorian responded without thinking.

The sunshine was, indeed, free.

The marquis was fucking into him hard and fast, now. His soft noble hand reached for Dorian’s cock and stroked him. His grip was firm and tight, slick with oil, insistently jerking Dorian off. It was an invitation to come, and it was good, but Dorian wasn’t very close to coming to begin with. Still—he had magic. He could send magical tingling heat right where he wanted it; in short order he was writhing, coming in the tight circle of the marquis’ fist, his buttocks clenching the man’s cock inside him.

This seemed to be what the marquis had been waiting for. He groaned heavily and rammed Dorian hard a few times, then shot his seed into Dorian. A moment later he pulled out, spilling the rest across his back.

Slowly, Dorian stretched out as the marquis lay down behind him, arms around him, lips back on his skin, on the nape of his neck, his shoulders— _beautiful_ again. Everything about Dorian was _beautiful_.

Dorian stared at the wall opposite and contemplated sunlight.

The polite interval of time passed; Dorian knew it by instinct, without counting. He rose from the marquis’ arms and stood, reaching for his clothing. “Where are you going?” the man murmured. “Come back to bed. I would have you again.”

“No.”

He heard the man sit up. “No?”

“No, we are done.” He put his trousers on.

Irritation: “I have paid for this night; if I want to continue—”

“You _paid_ to have sex with me,” Dorian interrupted. He turned to face the marquis, pulling his shirt on. His voice remained calm and polite. “You’ve had the full use of my body. I agreed to that. I do not consent to anything further.”

The man blinked. He sat back, frowning. Then, he sighed. “Very well. It is…disappointing. But—as you wish.”

Dorian bowed. “You have been most excellently attentive, marquis. It has been a pleasure. I hope we may continue to count you as a friend of the Inquisition.”

On those words, he departed.

He crossed the courtyard in moonlight and shadow. It was late enough that the tavern was dark, but Dorian did not go to the tavern. He went up to the battlements and knocked on Iron Bull’s door.

There was no immediate response, but Dorian did not knock again. He was sure the Bull would wake at a single sound; so he waited for him to get up. In a minute, the door opened. Bull was holding his trousers up, just tying them to keep them on, and he wasn’t wearing his eyepatch. Dorian caught his breath at the unexpected…detail.

“Hey, big guy. What’s going on?”

For a moment, Dorian was at a loss. Then: “You keep a bathtub in here, don’t you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“I need a bath.”

Tilting his head slightly, Bull nevertheless stepped back, opening the door. “All right. Come on in.” Dorian followed. Shut the door behind them.

Bull went to a corner, where a large tub was standing against the wall. He brought it to the open space in the room, setting it in front of Dorian. Dorian looked up at him. “I can use magic to fill it.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Might I also light the fire?”

“Oh, yeah.” Bull glanced at it. “I guess I’m up now. Make yourself at home. Want something to drink?”

Dorian lit the fire with a careless wave and agreed, “If it’s at least passable, then absolutely yes.”

Bull chuckled. “I was thinking tea, actually, but I’ve got some stronger stuff.”

“Oh, tea?” Dorian hadn’t considered that, but a hot drink would be lovely as well. “All right. Either would be fine.”

“How about both?”

He smiled slightly. “You’re generous.” Bull just shrugged and winked at him. Dorian shook his head and began to summon ice to fill the tub. “One day I should just learn to conjure water directly,” he commented, “but spells for that are a little rare. Water is difficult to control or use in combat. Thus, I continue melting ice.”

Bull studied the giant block of ice in the tub. Dorian began to draw a fire glyph over it. “Where does it come from?”

“The ice?”

“Yeah.”

Dorian thought a moment. “The Fade, I suppose.”

“So that’s demon ice?”

He snorted. “If it starts screaming, we’ll kill it.”

“Not that comforting, actually, but thanks for trying.”

Dorian smiled. “It’s not demon ice, Bull. There is a certain amount of raw material in the Fade that has no consciousness of its own, after all. It’s…not like the stuff in our world, but coming through the Veil…I make it real. I suppose that’s the only way to explain. I’ve made it real.”

“Hmm.” Bull let that go without comment and put a kettle of water over the fire. He also got out a bottle of what looked like brandy. Dorian melted the ice and heated the water; Bull made tea. “I don’t have anything fancy, but there are some bath things in that chest.”

“Thank you.” Dorian found a perfectly serviceable soap. Then he took his shirt off. Bull busied himself with the fire. Dorian paused, watching his back. “You don’t have to look away, Bull.”

After a moment, he turned back around. “All right.” He set out cups and poured a little brandy in each as he brewed the tea. Dorian removed his boots, and then his trousers, and he climbed into the bath.

Bull poured two cups of strong, dark tea, and added a little honey. He brought one cup to Dorian, then pulled up a chair and sat with his own tea. Dorian sighed happily. “Much better.”

“Was he that bad?”

It was just a friendly question. Dorian hummed. “No. He wasn’t bad at all.”

“Okay.”

Dorian sipped his tea. “Nevertheless, I’ve decided to stop.” He didn’t say “stop whoring myself.” There was no need to be indelicate.

“Okay.”

“You heard about my father, I assume? What the trip to Redcliff was all about?” Bull simply nodded. _Former Ben-Hassrath, no other explanation needed._ “We had a chat, he and I.”

“I remember.”

“He wanted my forgiveness. He apologized for betraying my trust. He had sorted out that much on his own, at least.” Dorian sipped his tea. “I told him I forgive him for that, but there was more. Naturally.”

“Like what?”

He set his empty cup aside. “What he meant to do was horrible…but it was only an extension of something that had always been there. His failure…his _inability_ to understand. For that, I’ve been disappointed in him for years. It’s extraordinarily difficult—loving someone who fails you for so long.” He picked up the soap and lathered it, rubbing at his legs under the water. “Well. He says he’ll work on trying to understand, and if he ever manages it, I’ll work on forgiving him for years of disappointment. It’s far from mended, but it’s a start.”

Bull watched him, and Dorian continued washing himself. “You okay?”

Dorian paused. “Not at all.”

Bull picked up the brandy and poured some into Dorian’s teacup. Dorian chuckled. “Thank you, I think I will.”

“Hey, anything I can do to help.”

Dorian set his arm on the edge of the tub and looked up at Bull with a faint smile. “I believe you mean that.”

Bull gave him a funny look. “Well, yeah.”

Shaking his head, Dorian laughed a little. He grabbed his cup and downed the brandy, then returned to washing his chest and arms and body. “I’ve been thinking about the way I approach…sex. Relationships of a sexual nature.”

“The way you used to?”

“Yes,” Dorian smiled. “You’re quite right, I did say I’m going to stop that, didn’t I? And I mean it, too. But not for any sort of shame over having done it. I acted in the way that was familiar to me, and I was given opportunities to make use of that—more than I otherwise would have. The problem is much older than my time here in the South.”

“Your father?”

Setting the soap aside, Dorian rinsed his hands off and held out his cup for a little more brandy. “You’re quick.”

“It’s a gift.”

“It’s a skill, trained carefully.”

“Well, yeah. That’s what I meant.”

They clinked their cups together and drank again. Then Dorian settled back in the water, looking up at Bull. His hair was surely a damp and tousled mess, his body humming with the brandy. “In Tevinter, sex was always an exchange. Risk danger to get pleasure. Give pleasure to get favor. Risk and give and give for half a hope of something deeper…something genuine.” He smiled sadly. “It was always a matter of striking a bargain. But I had already learned that lesson from my father. I spent years trying to earn his love and approval. That’s where bad habits begin, isn’t it? In childhood.”

Bull frowned. “You say that like it’s your fault. Your ‘bad habit.’”

“What my father did, how I was raised? No. But what I have done with it? I’ll take responsibility for my own actions, thank you. After all, I may have hurt some people along the way, treating my relationships with them as bargaining. Who should apologize for that but I?” He waved a wet hand. “But that is not my point. My point is…” He hesitated, studying Bull. “You said once that sex is not an exchange. You don’t do that.”

“That’s right.”

“It’s more like…a gift?”

Bull smiled. “But no debt.”

Dorian nodded. “No debt. Just a gift given and received. Perhaps the better word would be ‘shared’? Simply because two people want to?”

“Sounds about right.”

Taking a deep breath: “And if I may ask, just to be clear—do you want to have sex with me?”

Bull grinned. “Not sure how I could be any clearer, but yeah. Yeah, Dorian, that would be great.”

A tingle of heat ran through him that had nothing to do with the brandy. Emboldened, Dorian—slowly—stood up in the tub, facing Bull. “I want the same thing.” Bull’s gaze, to Dorian’s surprise, remained fixed on his eyes. Yet not…not in an _avoiding_ way. It was like…with Dorian fully nude before him, still Bull found his eyes to be the most fascinating part. Dorian swallowed. “I want to share sex with you. Freely.”

Pushing himself to his feet, Bull held his gaze. “Works for me,” he said, but his voice was the softest murmur.

Dorian smiled, a shiver running through him. He placed a hand upon Bull’s broad chest—then the other. He wasn’t discomfited, being naked like this in front of Bull, who was technically clothed. Perhaps because of the lack of eyepatch. He felt they were on equal footing; and he slid his hands up and pulled Bull down as positively massive hands rested on his hips, pulling him close enough to kiss.

It was a very good kiss. There was affection, but nothing shy; desire, but nothing rude. It simmered under his skin, the implications of Bull’s size finally coming home to him as Dorian had to stretch _up_ for a kiss for perhaps the first time in his life. And the hands on his body, covering not only his hips, but up to his lower ribs and behind to his buttocks—he had imagined these things in idle fantasy and wondered. It had not been quite _real_ , however.

When Bull released his lips from the kiss, they were both breathing heavily, and Dorian was hard. Rather embarrassing, really, to be so eager. Especially after one fuck already tonight. Before he could comment, however, Bull dropped a towel over his head.

Dorian huffed and protested as the lummox tousled him dry. “What is the meaning of this? I— _thank you_ , I believe I can do it!”

“Didn’t want you to get chilled,” Bull explained. Then he scooped Dorian up and out of the bath. His feet, warm from the water, hit the cold floor and Dorian jumped, yelping. Bull laughed and grabbed the towel, running it down his body to his legs.

He was down on one knee, and just as Dorian realized the position, Bull looked up at him, his hands on Dorian’s thighs. He dipped his head a little closer, watching Dorian’s expression. Dorian nodded, breathless, and Bull leaned in the last bit…and licked the underside of his erection, once. Teasing. Dorian’s cock jumped in response.

“Bed?” Bull suggested. Dorian nodded, and went.

Bull was close behind him, arms wrapping around him even before he could get very far onto the giant bed. Then Bull kissed him again, and pushed him back, hands caressing Dorian’s body. Dorian shuddered and made it clear with the passion of his kisses how eager he was for more. He felt Bull’s hands leave him, the man fumbling with the ties of his pants, and when he heard the soft rustle of fabric falling away, Dorian broke the kiss and unabashedly _looked._

_Maker save me._

He laughed breathlessly. “So you _can_ get hard at four in the morning.”

A grin. “Told you that wouldn’t be a problem.”

They both laughed, and Dorian reached for the Bull’s cock, sliding his hand around the hot, hard column. “You’re so large…” he murmured.

“Don’t let it worry you,” Bull rumbled. “More than one way to have a good time.”

“Oh, I’m not worried,” Dorian breathed. “And I insist. You really must put this inside me tonight, if at all possible.”

“If you’re sure.”

Dorian snorted. “Bull. I had another man inside me not an hour ago. We’ve a bit of a head start on the preparation as it is. Surely we can make the most of it?”

“Mmm.” Bull kissed him again, and as their tongues moved against each other, his hands crept to Dorian’s ass…pulled him open…and his exploring touch stroked Dorian’s rim, pressing lightly. A groan that sounded rather like a growl vibrated in Bull’s chest. “Oh yeah. Nice and open. We’ll need to stretch you some more, but this is a really good start.”

“I’m glad to hear— _ahhh!_ ”

Pressure right behind his balls had Dorian arching, gasping. Then Bull yanked a chest open and came back with oil, quickly coating his fingers.

“You know how to be careful with those claws, I assume?”

A big hand on his chest gently but firmly pushed Dorian onto his back. “They’re really blunt. Don’t worry.”

Dorian opened his legs, tilting his hips up. “I’m not at all worried. Do feel free to prove yourself just the same.”

Bull grinned. Stroked his rim several times with oiled fingers. Pushed them in. Then bent over the bed and sucked Dorian’s cock into his mouth.

It went beyond any other fellatio of Dorian’s life, easily—rather like the first time Bull had done this, actually. This time, however, Dorian was nearly sober and free to take it all in. He watched Bull, like a colossus, bend over his lap; yet his hands moved with a delicacy that wouldn’t have harmed a petal of crystal grace. He could see the top of Bull’s rough horns, which was rare. He could see the gouges of scarring over his face in their entirety, which was completely new. One remaining eye—a window to many thoughts. One empty socket—a reminder of the depth of goodness in this man’s heart.

Bull took him to the root smoothly and held him in his throat longer than Dorian would have thought possible. His agile tongue worked upon Dorian’s shaft in ways that erased all thought. As he added fingers gradually, bringing back the burn of the stretch, he swallowed more and more of him, sucking vigorously. He pulled Dorian’s balls into his mouth, the tip of his tongue rubbing beneath them as Dorian fought to restrain himself. He didn’t want to come yet, not yet…!

Slowly, Bull pulled off. His hands guided Dorian by the waist, rolling him over onto his stomach. Then his tongue pressed beneath Dorian’s balls again, licking a stripe directly toward his hole, swirling there, and then pressing inside.

Dorian arched, moaning and thrusting himself back against Bull’s tongue. A callused hand grasped his cock, fingers kneading the frenulum as Bull thrust his tongue in and out, in and out again. “Oh, please,” Dorian gasped. “Don’t make me…don’t make me come yet! _Ahhhh, kaffas_ , please, not yet!”

A kiss, right on his rim, so vile and sweet. “You can come, Dorian. We’ve got lots of time.”

“No,” he insisted in a moan. “Not until you’re inside me. Only…only from your cock, Bull. Please.”

A low sound that really couldn’t be anything other than a growl. “Whatever you want, big guy.”

Then Bull rolled him over.

Dorian looked up at the nude giant, cock in hand, stroking it and spreading oil—a fantasy come to life. A friend. “You’re stretched pretty good,” Bull rumbled, “but this might still hurt a bit.”

His huge shaft glistened. “I truly hope so,” Dorian whispered. He wanted it—the burning stretch with that edge of pain. He loved it, loved the moment his body submitted to the penetration and relaxed and _took it._

Bull lined up, then _took Dorian’s hand_ , and _then_ leaned into it, pushing slowly inside him. Dorian cried out, squeezing that rough hand hard enough to hurt. They stared at each other as Bull eased deeper and deeper, and when he finally stopped—perhaps not fully seated, but very close to it—Dorian’s whole body shuddered and his muscles released and _accepted_.

He was panting. “This is…not going to last. I feel I should warn you. I’m really about to…oh Maker,” his eyes fell shut, “this doesn’t seem possible.”

Leaning closer, Bull pulled his hips back—a slow withdrawal. “Come for me, Dorian. Then we’ll mess around while you recover. _Then_ we’ll go for real.”

“Sounds… _ahhhh, yes!_ ”

It only took a few deep, insistent thrusts. The Bull was so large, every little shift sent sparks of pleasure through him. Dorian watched the great beast shift above him, slowly fucking him, and he came without touching himself. He pulled Bull’s hand to his mouth to muffle his cries, and he bit tough skin, drawing a long, low growl.

Very carefully, Bull drew back. Dorian watched his thick, hard cock reemerge and wondered at his self-control. He swallowed. “Maker, I want to taste you.”

“Should have said that earlier.”

Dorian _tsked_. “ _Kaffas_.”

Bull grinned and pushed into his space, kissing his jaw. “I can clean up a bit, if you ask nicely. Got a tub full of soapy water right here.”

Delighted, Dorian gave Bull a smoldering look. “I beg you, go wash your dick so you can fuck my throat with it.”

Bull laughed, pushing off the bed. “What, no euphemisms?” Dorian watched his massive glutes as he walked to the tub and stepped in. Then he sank down, grabbing the washcloth. Wincing, a little, as he touched his shaft under the water.

“Did you want me to beg for a taste of your engorged member?” Dorian, left to his own devices, wiped away his own spend and settled himself more fully on the bed, bringing the oil with him. “I thought you liked plain honesty. You called it ‘hot,’ as I recall.”

Standing from the water, Bull grabbed the discarded towel. “The fuck is ‘engorged’? Wait…does it have anything to do with ‘gore’? Because I could be into that.”

“Ugh!” Dorian made a face. “Don’t be disgusting. And give me your brandy.”

“Not saying it’s something you have to do, big guy. Just saying I could, if you wanted.” He handed over the brandy and rubbed the towel down his legs.

Dorian took a burning squig and set the bottle aside, taking up the oil instead—and coating his fingers. “I would really rather not. And yes, the root word means ‘blood’—thus, engorged: ‘filled with blood.’”

Despite the mundane tone of the conversation, Dorian had not quite been able to take his eyes off the member in question since it reappeared. Lounging in the bed, he caressed his own rim, slipping oiled fingers inside as he stared at Bull’s cock. Bull, watching him, also grabbed the brandy and helped himself—and his other hand wrapped around his dick and gave a slow, long stroke. A faint little half-bitten-off noise of _want_ escaped Dorian. Bull’s voice was a low, gravelly purr: “You want your mouth on this cock, Dorian?”

He swallowed. “Plainly—and effectively—put. Yes.”

“Scoot over.”

Obediently, Dorian almost threw himself to the side, allowing Bull to sit beside him. Dorian knelt over his legs and finally took the heavy shaft in his hand. He glanced up at Bull. “Do let me know if I’m too much for you.”

A deep, delicious laugh. “I hope you will be.”

Smiling— _how odd_ —Dorian bent low.

“Yeah…shit, Dorian. Oh yeah that’s good.”

Bull’s cock was as thick and long as any fantasy, his balls heavy and large. Dorian traced his shape with his hands, with his lips, with his tongue. Bull tasted clean, the skin was soft, and the shaft was so very hard. It made Dorian tremble, suckling the head and stroking with his tongue. How many times had he been with men who never got fully hard? So many. Some hardened enough to penetrate him; some couldn’t even manage that, and they came in Dorian’s mouth without ever gaining enough strength of cock to actually fuck him. He tried to remind himself that bodies were different, and age and alcohol were often a factor… _yet even so_. There were so many times Dorian couldn’t help feeling that if he were _really_ desired, the man would be harder for him.

And now Bull. Dorian could feel his pulse beating in the shaft, and he could slide the loose skin up and down it, but there was nothing partial about Bull’s erection. Like hot marble—and oh, how it had felt inside! Dorian sucked Bull down and caressed his testicles and shivered in anticipation.

Before that—a renewed touch. Oiled, and stroking his hole. He arched his back invitingly, and Bull’s thick, huge fingers eased inside him again. Dorian pulled off, gasping, and pressed sucking kisses up and down Bull’s shaft as he was slowly fingered. He lost himself, somewhat, reveling in pleasure and _hunger_ as he stroked and sucked and fondled Bull. 

“ _Mmmm_. Yeah, Dorian. Take it. Look how good you are. Knew you’d be the best. Love giving you what you want…shit…”

Breathing hard, Dorian tried to smirk—and probably just smiled. He stroked Bull’s tip with one finger, smearing fluid. “What about what _you_ want?”

Bull snorted. “You mean besides this?” His expression looked amused and a little confused. “I’m great.”

“Oh.” Dorian blinked. He hadn’t thought he was being vague. “I mean, ah…” He gave Bull’s cock a squeeze, and at the same time, tightened his buttocks around those thick fingers. “The main event…so to speak.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” Bull nodded. “That works too. Whatever gets you off, Dorian.”

The statement struck Dorian, first, as deceptive—because it was so generous. Then he remembered where he was and with whom, and thought instead that it was simply very accommodating of Bull. And then he remembered what they were _doing here_ , and he sighed, and crawled up into Bull’s lap and kissed him. Big hands rubbed his buttocks and pulled him closer.

When they parted, Dorian gave an apologetic look. “I’ve done it already—I forgot this was sharing.” He searched Bull’s eye. “I was bargaining. I’m sorry.”

Studying him in return, Bull simply asked, “What were you going to bargain for?”

Dorian hesitated. He wasn’t even sure. He might have just been… _bargaining._ Manipulating as a reflex. “Ah…”

“Because you can have it, you know.”

He smiled. Kissed Bull again, lingering. And then took him in hand and stroked. “I think I wanted to ride you. But I was recontextualizing it to make you think I was bestowing something _you_ desired, so that you would then consider it a debt you owed me. Because that is my habit in these matters, and I apologize.”

Bull nodded. “I get it.” Then he grinned. “No worries. So—you want to ride me? Funny…I want you to ride me too.”

“Well, then.” Dorian supplied himself with more oil. “Let nothing stand in our way, yes?”

“Shit yeah,” Bull rumbled as Dorian coated his shaft and lined him up.

It was easier the second time.

It was _wonderful_.

Dorian put his legs to work, and thanked the Maker for his fit and healthy body. Then he thanked the Maker for qunari, for _this qunari_ , and then he _rode the Bull_. He lost himself in it—there was no hiding that much. He did not play coy games, he did not guard himself as he usually would. He sank down on Bull’s cock and shivered and moaned, and Bull pulled him close and kissed him, and Dorian _took him. Hard._

“Deeper,” he panted, after a while. “I want you deeper. I want you to _break_ me.”

Bull growled into his mouth, huge hands lifting him, and Dorian shuffled to turn around. An awkward and inelegant moment later, back pressed to Bull’s chest, he sank down on him again. Head thrown back. Crying out in bliss.

Massive arms held him, rough and yet gentle hands roaming his body as Dorian, head lolled back on a huge shoulder, fucked himself senseless on the largest cock he’d ever taken—his friend’s cock, as it happened. The Iron Bull. His qunari comrade-in-arms.

Dorian laughed helplessly, breathlessly, grinding downward. Every hot inch inside him throbbed. He felt as though Bull had opened new depths inside him that he hadn’t known were there, and then filled them to bursting. He shook, and when he tried to raise himself again, his legs wouldn’t.

“Oh,” he sighed, hands finding Bull’s arms, his hands, his fingers, and interlacing. “Damned legs.”

Rumbling breath in his ear: “Getting tired?”

“Mmm.”

“Want me to throw you down and fuck your brains out?”

“I do. And I have…for quite some time, I’m afraid,” he murmured with a smile.

So Bull did.

Marvelously, he managed to throw Dorian onto his chest and stomach while propping a pillow under him—violent and tender in one. Then he thrust, and _thrust_ , and fucked Dorian harder than he’d known to be possible. He writhed, and nearly _sobbed_ , mind blank, heart racing. Bull barely touched him and he came, bursting over the sheets with heavy spurts of seed, shaking from his very core and outward to every part of his body.

“You want me to come?” Whispered in his ear.

Helplessly, Dorian nodded.

“Tell me how you want it.”

“Inside,” he managed. “And don’t pull out.”

Fucking roughly into him, Bull did—copious, hot, and pulsing. Longer than a human ever could, and surely much more. Dorian felt it, and he felt Bull tremble. Deep voice groaning pleasure, cock spilling, thrusting, spilling, pumping him full. Slowly, gradually, falling still. When Bull stopped moving, he was as deep as he could possibly be, and he lay Dorian down and pulled him against his sweaty chest and kissed his shoulder, cock softening but still so deep inside.

Drifting, Dorian murmured, “You’re so good. So very good. The best.”

“ _Mmnh_.” Kisses. “You’re sweet, Dorian.”

They lingered. Eventually: “Isn’t it uncomfortable?”

“It’s not too bad. Want me out?”

Dorian hesitated.

“Want me to stay in?”

He dared: “Actually, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to fall asleep on a man’s cock, and wake with him still inside me. And, well…proceed from there.”

“Sounds great.” Bull’s deep voice carried a smile. “Let’s do that.”

So, exhausted, Dorian fell asleep, and in a few short hours, when morning arrived—they did.

\--

There was no way to understate how good the next few weeks were. Dorian sent his final letter to Lord Donovan, free at last of that unpleasant obligation. When playing chess with Cullen, Delrin Barris came along one day, which led to Dorian acquiring a new chess partner—a shame how little Dorian actually cared about the game, but it was fun to bait these sincere and competitive Templars and tease them and see how much cheating he could get away with. Between the tavern and chess, Barris became something of an actual friend—one who was very happy with his present life, and very quick to give Dorian more credit for that than he probably deserved.

“Please. I really changed nothing.”

“Perhaps not,” Barris countered. “But you don’t know how much you did do. How freely and happily I took the vow, thanks to you. I am in your debt, Ser.”

“Never a wise admission. You know my expensive tastes.”

Barris laughed. “And you know the sad depth of my pockets. But I am still glad to share what little I have, if you can abide Cabot’s ale.”

“It hasn’t killed me yet!” Dorian cheerfully declared.

\--

In the hall one day, on his way back to the library, Dorian ran into Ser Morris. He tried to evade the man, but didn’t see him until too late. And Ser Morris was not to be evaded.

“Lord Pavus!”

A polite smile. “Ser Morris. May I help you?”

The lad was flushed and beaming. Not quite what Dorian had expected. “Yes, I mean…your pardon. Allow me to give you this.” Dorian took a small card. “It’s an invitation. To…my wedding.”

In a moment of dread, Dorian quickly glanced at the names. He relaxed—though not visibly—when he saw some other beside Morris’ name. “You’re getting married?” Then: “…Who is ‘Robert’?”

Radiating smiles: “My best friend growing up. We spent every minute together as boys, and we still write each other. He’s coming here to Skyhold for the wedding.”

“Is he?”

“Yes. And I would be honored if you would be there. I really must thank you, Lord Pavus. I had never known that I could…well. I hadn’t considered it. But when I wrote to Robert and spoke of it—I didn’t tell him your name, though—but when I spoke of how much I enjoyed it, he…ah.” Morris flushed bright red. “I suppose he’d always felt a certain way, and I’d been a bit of a clod and never noticed.” A silly shrug. “When he told me, I couldn’t have been happier. We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together. We’ve always been together; it feels so right to…you know.”

“Congratulations,” Dorian smiled politely. Then, without betraying his concern: “Have you even seen him?”

“Not yet.” Breathlessly. Undaunted. “We’ve only exchanged letters. But he’ll be here next week, and oh! I cannot wait!”

 _Maker. Agreeing to marry before you’ve even seen each other? Well…to each his own._ “I will be honored to attend, Ser Morris. I wish you both every happiness.”

\--

It took a while to correct some of the rumors that had taken hold around the Inquisition. Rolland had not originated the rumor that Dorian was a piece of free entertainment for good Chantry-following faithful men, but he hadn’t kept quiet about his success with Dorian either, and rumors went a little ugly and out of control for a time. For a while, Dorian would occasionally be propositioned by a man or men who thought all they needed to do was put in a reservation, so to speak. Dorian attempted to be mature, to not take it out on them—to regard them as simply good men who had been misinformed.

At first.

As he and the Bull continued sleeping together, he grew less and less tolerant of such offers. Finally, when one particular man believed he had every right to _join_ Dorian and Bull, it was enough. Dorian lit the man’s trousers on fire, and saw no further advances from the misinformed after that.

As for Cesrio, his lustful Antivan paramour, Dorian received a letter, eventually. Not a very long one—just a short and insistent request for Dorian to come visit the man in in Ostwick, while he was traveling for business. Apparently Ostwick was “close enough” for a rendezvous without any conceivable inconvenience to Dorian—apart from a lengthy journey, including a sea voyage. But Cesrio wanted a lover to keep in his room while traveling, to fuck in every spare moment, as before.

Dorian wrote a Tevinter-polite refusal—the sort of thing that sounded gracious and above reproach, but still let the recipient know, in no uncertain terms, what a pathetic, worthless creature he was, and how little he deserved the ink and paper needed to refuse him.

It was, perhaps, a little mean. Dorian would not have any further contact with many other men who deserved a similar letter, so he would have no occasion to spurn them. So, alas, Cesrio had to take all his vitriol.

Dorian received no further communication from him.

He couldn’t have been happier. The Bull was far more gracious and attentive in bed, and he matched Cesrio in stamina and entirely exceeded him in equipment.

So Dorian thought, in an idle moment, tapping his pen against a page and watching the Bull read a book. The library was newly equipped with a very large chair, and the Bull often stopped by and picked a random book to read. It could be anything from dry history to warfare technology to pure smut. Today, it was a treatise on Avaar religion.

Bull glanced up. Caught, Dorian decided not to pretend he hadn’t been looking. He just smiled. “Interesting read?”

“Sure. Boring research?” An answering smile.

“A bit stagnant,” he admitted.

“Want to take a break?”

Dorian wiped the ink from his quill. “I suppose Cadash isn’t really pressing for results.” He set the pen down, closed the book, and smiled. “Where shall we do it?”

Bull chuckled. “Actually, I was thinking we could work on your chess game.” At Dorian’s puzzled look—wondering whether that was code for sex in the garden or if Bull actually meant chess, and if so, _why_ —he winked. “You keep playing with those strapping young Templars. I’m kinda jealous. … _And_ ,” he added, “you can’t beat them without cheating. It’s embarrassing.” He stood up. “Coming?”

Dorian regarded Bull for a long moment, jaw firmly shut to avoid gaping. _A qunari mercenary,_ Dorian told himself slowly, _thinks my chess skills are an embarrassment._ Bull was fine with the hideous pants he was wearing and he didn’t care what Dorian had done in his past relationships, but a lack of _chess skills_ bothered him.

 _This is absurd_ , Dorian concluded, but what he said was, “I shall have you dining on those words in short order, my friend,” as he rose and went down to the garden.

\--

The War Room was again filled for a group meeting. There was a large campaign into the Arbor Wilds coming up, and Cadash was in a bad mood. Morrigan had been forced upon the Inquisition, and her arcane magic was most unwelcome. Dorian could relate—if Morrigan had been interested in empathy. She wasn’t, so Dorian attended the meeting as usual and listened to the best of his ability. The afternoon sun was slanting across Iron Bull’s chest in a most distracting way. It gave rise to some dirty thoughts—and some unexpectedly tender ones.

The discussion turned to an Orlesian who was causing some trouble—something about his cooperation needed for the Arbor Wilds, and something about a soiree he was throwing, and something about the Inquisition simply unable to spare anyone…

Iron Bull glanced at Dorian, caught him looking, and winked. Dorian controlled his impulse to look away and brazenly met the Bull’s gaze with a smile, one eyebrow arched.

“That’s all right. Dorian will take care of him.”

He blinked. “Pardon?”

Cadash didn’t hand him the letter—merely pointed to it on the table. “That prat. The Orlesian. You can go to his damn soiree. Woo him like the others, eh, Vint?”

A moment’s pause. Calmly, Vivienne looked at him. “I could give you any details about him you might require, if you like. But it is indeed true that he would capitulate to your…persuasion.”

“Leave tomorrow,” Cadash concluded, “and you can fuck him and be back before we march. Sound good?”

It wasn’t an order. It was simply…expected, at this point. _Fair enough_ , Dorian supposed. He’d been acting on a certain pattern, after all. They didn’t know anything had changed.

But it _had_ changed.

“I’m afraid not, actually.”

Cadash glanced impatiently up at him. “What? Why not?”

Dorian glanced at Bull. There was no hint or indication there, of course—nothing but neutral attention. It was the Bull. He wouldn’t pressure Dorian to speak or act in any way. He would accept anything.

Well, _nearly_ anything. But perhaps not _everything_. Perhaps not this…

Dorian smiled at Cadash. “I have lately become lovers with the Iron Bull,” he indicated with his hand. Cadash glanced sharply over, startled, then back. “And I intend to remain faithful to him,” Dorian added politely. He saw no reason to be indelicate. “If this Orlesian requires any sort of persuasion that would constitute cheating on my lover, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”

In a long moment of silence, Dorian kept his attention on Cadash. The Inquisitor’s reaction was the vital one. Dorian wondered if he was about to be ejected from the Inquisition now, as Cadash’s eyes narrowed.

At length—a curt nod. “Fine then. Never mind.”

And that was all.

The meeting continued, the Orlesian was handed off to poor Josephine to see what she could do about him, and no one made any comments. Not in the meeting, at least.

On the way out, from behind him: “Didn’t know we were telling the boss.” The Bull sounded slightly amused. The tone gave Dorian the courage to stop and face him.

“I, ah, do apologize for that. I spoke out of turn, without your permission, and I used terms that we certainly have not…mutually established. I should have simply told Cadash no, without using you as an excuse…” He glanced up. “I will, if you like. I’ll explain everything…”

But Bull just smiled. “Or…we could make it true.”

Dorian felt like the floor had vanished from under his feet. “I…that is, you…you would…”

“Be with you?” Bull gave him a crooked half-grin.

“Well. I wouldn’t ask to go so far as…” He swallowed.

Bull shook his head. “You know, Dorian, for the amount of time you spend talking about how great you are, it’s kind of strange how slow you are to believe someone could love you.”

Unfortunately, Dorian’s best response to that was an open mouth and a voiceless little inarticulate sound. Bull waited, smiling, and after a minute Dorian managed, weakly, “ _Someone_ —yes. Abstracts and possibilities are no trouble at all. But certain, specific persons…” He glanced at Bull, uncertainly. “…Persons with no past experience on record of that kind of relationship…”

“Hmm, you’ve got a point.” Bull nodded, scratching at his chin. “I guess it looks weird. Maybe I’m not the best judge. Hey, Josephine!” It was only at this point that Dorian remembered they still hadn’t left Josephine’s office, and while the rest of the Inquisition had passed through and left after the meeting, Josephine was still there, sitting at her desk, pretending a hearing impairment. “What do you think about me and Dorian being a couple? Think I could fall for him?”

Without glancing up from her writing, Dorian heard the smile in her answer. “I think Lord Pavus could make a more politically advantageous match in Tevinter, but it is his customary idiom to be shocking, and in that regard you are a perfect choice. And as far as your feelings—” She looked up—definitely smiling. “I think they are quite obvious, if you will but study them properly.”

Bull grinned. “Yeah, guess so. What about Dorian? Think he could love me?”

Josephine arched a perfect eyebrow. “I think, judging by the shade of his face, that he probably already does. More or less.”

Dorian’s first impulse—to turn and make a quick escape—was curtailed at once when he remembered that there were quite a few more people outside, and if he was blushing that atrociously, he should avoid crowds. Covering his face was entirely too plebian to be an option, so instead Dorian simply _tsk_ ed, grabbed Bull’s too-large shoulder, and grumbled, “All right, I suppose with that settled—”

And then he kissed the Bull, who pulled him close in a hug that _may_ have taken Dorian a few inches off his feet, but he certainly did not kick up either of his heels to make a point of it, so that wasn’t such an ordeal after all. Surely, one could maintain a _little_ dignity…while falling in love.

Dorian sighed in mild despair. “ _Vishante kaffas_.”


End file.
